


I've never been a natural (all I do is try, try, try)

by iwantthemtostay



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Connor does a John Tavares, M/M, we get by with a little help from our friends, with the fourth overall pick the Toronto Maple Leafs are proud to select Dylan Strome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:09:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 39,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27596660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwantthemtostay/pseuds/iwantthemtostay
Summary: In June 2015 Dylan gets drafted fourth overall by the Toronto Maple Leafs, in August his boyfriend breaks up with him. In July 2026 said ex signs with the Leafs. In the months that follow they work things out.
Relationships: Connor McDavid/Dylan Strome, background Tessa Virtue/Morgan Rielly
Comments: 36
Kudos: 184
Collections: Hockey Big Bang (2020)





	I've never been a natural (all I do is try, try, try)

**Author's Note:**

> It's done!
> 
> A million thank yous to the wonderful Annapods who has made the most amazing [podfic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27575498) of this work. I'm so lucky to have them read my words. 
> 
> Thank you to C and E for all their help in both betaing and idea bouncing and handholding. Thank you to A for answering all my hockey and Leafs and Toronto questions for what she has dubbed my "McStrome treatise" even though I know she would prefer to have me working on something else :P
> 
> This fic contains some discussion of struggles to conceive for a background relationship, as well as talking about coming out and the general spectre of homophobia in the NHL. 
> 
> Title is of course from "Mirrorball", from Taylor Swift's gift onto us that is _Folklore_.

_**July 2026** _

Dylan gets the news as he’s leaving the 18th hole of St George’s. The rules about phones during the annual Strome family Canada Day fourball are strict, have been ever since that time Matt tried to do a TikTok from each hole one year and in the process completely tanked his and Ryan’s chances and embarrassed the whole family. There are never usually this many messages though, along with three missed calls from Nick, one from Kyle, and two from Mo. His stomach clenches and he feels hot and cold all at once as he stands still and hits the call button. 

Mo picks up after the third ring. “He’s gonna sign. McDavid’s going to sign.” 

Dylan breathes again. And then startles. “What?! Weren’t they, like, preliminary talks?” He thought he had time to get used to the possibility, hadn’t been prepared at all for it becoming a reality.

“He wants to come home, wants to win a Cup.” Dylan can hear Mo pushing his hair off his face, knows what’s coming next before he says anything. “How are you feeling?” 

“Well, relieved at first. There were so many messages and some calls and I thought…” He thought this could be it. The day he gets outed. Had started going through all he’s done this summer, the places he’s been, the people he’s been with. But instead it’s the day his ex joins his team. 

“Sorry, bud. I remembered after that you were going to be out golfing. Kyle was calling the leadership team and Alex was in the room with Willy and then must have messaged every fucking Swede in the league. It’s probably going to be everywhere in an hour.” 

“I’m glad I heard it from you.” Morgan knows the whole backstory, or at least as much as anyone who isn’t Dylan or Connor can know. “How are you feeling about it?”

“Me? I mean, it’s McDavid.” There’s a rustle down the line and then Morgan says, “Bea, you need to let Mommy put on your sunscreen before we go out.”

Dylan smiles. “How’s my girl?”

“You can take her anytime. She realised last night that she can get out of her big girl bed without any help. I hadn’t recovered from the shock of hearing her walking around last night and then I woke up to this.” He does sound tired, though that has sort of been the default ever since Bea arrived. 

“It’s good news for the team. We need a first-line centre, and he’s the absolute best right now.” One of the best ever. Within the mess of feelings that’s swirling around his chest, Dylan knows there’s excitement. They already have a good team, a great one even, and Connor could take them with him to the stratosphere.

“Yeah, but it’s okay if you need some time to get used to it.” Dylan knows he needs a moment to adjust to this (a few moments), but he doesn't want things to be weird. 

“I’m not going to make things awkward, I’ll be professional…”

“Dylan!” Mo interrupts, something he almost never does. “I’m not worried about that, at all. I just… If it were me and someone I had cared about like that was joining the team… I think it might be tough to get my head around.” Dylan hums in acknowledgement. “And then the media will be all over it, you two were pretty good together back then,” Morgan adds, voice dry.

They had been pretty good together back in Erie. But there’s a small, not so humble, not so generous, part of Dylan that has liked being able to play without Connor, no matter how amazing it had been to play alongside him. He’s liked standing on his own two feet, no one able to say he’s only good because he’s on a team with the next Great One. Maybe people had said things about him doing well because he was on a team with Auston or John or Willy or Nick, but for some reason those had never lingered in his head. Dylan knows he’s not special, knows he probably wasn’t worth a fourth overall pick, but he also knows he’s good, that he’s been good for the Leafs. So perhaps there’s a selfish part of him that wants to keep this for himself. But he’ll get over it. “They’ll probably be too busy with the hometown hero returning angle at first,” he finally replies.

“Hmm.” He thinks he can hear Morgan tapping his fingers on something. “You know, it’s great that he’s Connor McDavid and he’ll do great things for this team. But you’re ours. Leafs for life, right?”

Dylan can almost smell that night they won the Cup, the alcohol and the sweat and the sheer exultation of it all, can picture Morgan calling them over and himself, Morgan and Willy packed tightly together and passing a bottle of Moët between them, yelling that phrase over and over again. Auston had been there too, but then he was gone the next summer. “Leafs for life,” he repeats. Otters for life, too. 

“Look at those sunglasses!” Morgan exclaims, and there’s a second before Dylan realises he’s talking to Bea. “I need to go, but I’ll talk to you later, yeah? Tell everyone happy Canada Day from me and Tess.”

Dylan sends on his greetings from his own family before saying goodbye. Ryan’s still waiting for him on the edge of the green, looking up from his phone with a slightly worried smile. “Everything okay?”

“Connor signed with the Leafs,” he says, hoping the words sound neutral even if they don’t taste that way. 

“Connor McDavid?” Ryan asks, as if there’s ever been another Connor for Dylan.

“Yeah. Davo. It’ll be good for the team.” He shoulders his brother, more gently than he would have before Ryan had that injury last fall. “I should probably try and get another ring so I can stay the brother with the most in case you or Matty ever win one.” 

Ryan taps the back of Dylan’s head before saying, “How are you really feeling though?”

“I’ll be okay.” He loves Ryan, but he’s had enough big-brothering for right now. “We can talk about it another time, yeah?”

“Anytime.” Ryan puts an arm around his shoulders. “Ready to go home?” 

Once they’re in the car and Ryan is driving, Dylan uses the search function to find his messages with Connor, not really wanting to think about how long it would take for him to find them if he scrolled. He types out  _ Welcome to the Leafs  _ and puts away his phone.

*****

It’s another few weeks before he actually sees Connor in person. They’ve exchanged a couple of texts since Canada Day (or Connor McDavid Signs Day, previously known as John Tavares Signs Day), but nothing substantial. Mo is having a team get-together for the guys who are back in Toronto and their families at his house and Dylan can’t decide if this is much better or much worse than meeting Connor at the rink. It’s better than the coffee Connor had suggested ten days ago which Dylan had got out of because he was flying to Hawaii the next day. A very solid out. It’s not that he doesn’t want to see him, he’s just not sure how he feels about seeing him again alone for the first time, like that might be too much. Maybe it is better for it to happen at Mo and Tessa’s, where he feels at home. 

So at home that he only gives a perfunctory knock at the door before letting himself in, smiling at the catering crew who are starting to lay things out as he makes his way through the house. “Honey, I’m home,” he calls.

“Sometimes I think you want people to get the wrong idea,” Tessa says, with a very fake put-upon sigh. She’s swapping out the good throw on the couch for a not-so-good one, having learned the perils of leaving fancy household decorations out around rookies back when Nick had spilled the beer and the coke he’d had in either hand all over her white sofa. 

“Just don’t want people to be shocked when we run away together.” He helps fold the throw. “Where do you want this?” 

“Can’t wait.” She kisses his cheek. “Could you put it up in Bea’s room, please? Morgan’s trying to persuade her that she doesn’t need to wear a helmet today.” She grabs his arm before he goes. “Do you want a pep talk before everyone arrives?”

“I’m good, thanks.” He feels a little talked out about the whole thing, they’d already gone over it when he was here for dinner right after he got back from vacation. “I don’t need a pep talk.” 

He just laughs when Tessa repeats that after him as he walks away in a tone he swears he hasn’t used in the past five years. 

As soon as he enters Bea’s room she’s running towards him, hugging his leg and knocking the helmet in her hand against his knee. “Dylan!” 

“Hi Bea,” he lifts her up, “I don’t think you’re going skating today, do you want a princess tiara instead maybe?” 

Bea considers this. “You too.” 

“Sure, I’ll wear one too.” It’s not like anyone else is going to be early, or probably even on time, and he doesn’t really care anyway. Most of them have been called into princess duty by a mini Rielly or Tavares or Spezza at some point. 

Morgan shakes his head, gesturing at all the tiara and headbands and other hair accessories he has laid out in front of him, all obviously refused until now. He hands Dylan two sparkly tiaras. “I don’t know why she always agrees to stuff when you ask.” 

“It’s the same with Ryan’s kids, Uncle Dylan is just the best.” He helps Bea place the tiara right among her blonde curls before sticking his own on more haphazardly. 

“Princess tea party?” Bea suggests, and then her eyes really light up. “Hockey princess tea party!” She shakes the helmet that’s still tight in her hand. 

“Now you’re talking, kiddo.” Dylan turns before pausing, “You need a hand with those, Mo?”

“No, you two go on, I’ve got a couple of things to tidy up before other people get here anyway.” 

Dylan doesn't ask twice and makes his way down the stairs, asking Bea what she’s been up today. Her speech seems to be more developed every time he sees her, it being even easier to understand her now than it had been before the Virtue-Riellys went out to BC. It’s not until he reaches the bottom of the stairs that he looks up to find Tessa talking to Connor. He doesn’t trip, but it’s a near thing, and he’s very grateful that hadn’t happened on the stairs because getting murdered by two of his best friends for tripping while holding their daughter has never been a plan of his.

“He-hey,” Dylan says, first a little squeaky and then way too low and generally just awful, like he’s still a teenager and not a fully grown man. Connor doesn't seem to notice though, he just stays standing there looking at Dylan and Bea, his eyes opened a bit too wide. It’s weird.

“Connor was just apologising for being early, but he’s really just on time,” Tessa explains, looking back and forth between them like this is the Rogers Cup.

“Well, that’s really late then, eh Davo?” That had been drilled into them in Erie, and the old joke seems to bring Connor back to reality. 

“For sure,” he turns back towards Tessa, “but it is maybe a little early to turn up at someone’s house.” 

She bats this away. “Don’t worry about it, you’ve just joined a team of stragglers.”

“Except me,” Dylan adds.

“You don’t count,” Tessa shoots back, before she seems to remember that Connor might not get that’s a joke. “As a guest, I mean. Dylan’s over a lot. He’s been a wonderful friend to us.” Surely Tessa’s way too nice, but there does seem to be a hint of something like steel to that sentence.

“Yeah. He’s, uh, yeah.” Connor’s cheeks go kind of red and Dylan’s been doing great at handling this up until right now. “So this must be Beatrix!” He waves, and, just fuck Dylan’s life.

“Bea,” Bea clarifies, before giving a little wave of her own. She’s been resting her head on Dylan’s shoulder but lifts it now and prompts him, “Hockey princess tea party.” 

It’s in that moment that Dylan remembers he’s wearing a tiara with a large pink stone in the centre, surrounded by pink feathers and a little part of his soul shrivels up. At least holding a two year old means he’s getting out of having to make a hug versus handshake decision, there are some benefits to this situation. “We’d better get this show on the road, huh, Bea?” She claps her hands. “We’ll catch up later, yeah?” He calls this more or less over his shoulder because he really would prefer to be having a hockey princess tea party in the playroom at this point. 

The house starts to get louder as they drink from empty teacups and eat plastic finger sandwiches, but Bea seems content where she is and Dylan figures he can catch up with the guys later in the day. He’s been in fairly regular contact with most of them over the summer anyway. 

“Was I not invited to the tea party?” comes a voice around the door.

“Willy!” Bea squeals. Will hands a beer to Dylan and gives him a half-hug before kneeling down to give Bea a proper one. “Princess tea party,” she corrects, pointing to the crown on her head and then towards the dressing up box.

Will does as he’s told, returning wearing a very big tiara with a sparkly red heart as its centrepiece. “How do I look?” He sits down across from Dylan on one of the tiny chairs around the tiny table.

“Very pretty,” Bea tells him.

“What about me?” Dylan asks, clutching his heart in mock-offence. “Am I pretty too?” 

Bea pats his hand reassuringly. “Very pretty.”

“Thank you.” He raises his teacup to Will in a toast. “How are things going out there?” 

“Good food, getting busy. I think you’ll have seen anyone who’s already here this summer already.” Dylan and Will met up right after he got back from Sweden, going to a new Italian place where Will judged the lasagne to be subpar. “Mo and McDavid are having some kind of captains’ talk.”

“Shit, they wouldn’t take the captaincy away from him, would they?” Dylan is sure Connor is a great captain, but he hasn’t been his captain for over ten years, and he’s known Mo should be one from pretty much the moment they met. 

“They’d better not,” says William, before dramatically eating some fake grapes while Bea giggles.

“Connor can have my A.” It’s not that he wants to give it up, but Connor can’t be expected to go from wearing the C for almost ten years to nothing.

“Uh, no, he’s definitely having mine. You’re the one who actually likes looking after the rookies.” Dylan raises his eyebrows at this because Will loves the kids, but he doesn’t blink. “You’ve had yours longer anyway.” This Dylan can’t really argue with.

Bea pats his hand. “Go see Mama?” 

“Sounds good.” As he pushes his tiny chair back he remembers the tiara. “Should I leave this here or keep wearing it?” He takes it off and hopes for the best. Bea puts out her hand and then puts the crown on her own head, right above the other one. “Beautiful,” he tells her, holding out his hand for her to take.

“Do you want mine too, Bea?” Will asks, starting to lift off his tiara.

She shakes her head definitively. “Don’t like it.” 

Will sniffs. “Well, guess I’ll just have to keep it then.” And he walks out ahead of them just like that. 

Tessa scoops Bea up once they get out into the living room, which is a good thing as this coincides with the moment Nick Robertson, in all his 5’9” glory, arrives and promptly rushes towards Dylan and lifts him up. 

“Stromer!” he booms. “I missed you!” They’d talked on the phone the night before, but it’s Nick.

“Missed you too.” Nick’s gotten a lot stronger, but Dylan still feels more secure once he’s back on the ground. 

“I need to tell you all about the guy on the plane who hung his shoes up on the back of the seat in front of him.” Nick puts an arm around Dylan’s shoulder and leads him over to where the food is. 

It’s not that Dylan is trying to avoid Connor, he just gets caught up talking with a lot of other people. He listens to Nick’s retelling of his journey from L.A., and then stories from his summer, some of which Dylan’s already heard, but they’re better in person. Then he gets introduced to Rasmus’ very pretty girlfriend who’s come over from Sweden with him to visit and wants tips about what to do from someone who’s actually from Toronto (he guesses the GTA counts). After that he finds himself mediating a debate between Tessa and Will about whether the 1995 or 2005  _ Pride and Prejudice _ is the better adaptation. He gets rescued from that bloodbath by Zach who takes him over to hang out with his and Alannah’s new baby where Dylan happily stays until Nick starts beckoning him over to a corner, looking all furtive like this is a dark club rather than a bright, airy house with kids running around.

Once Dylan’s within reach, Nick puts two hands on his shoulders and then whispers. “Are things okay with you and McDavid?”

“Uh, yeah, of course they are.” Dylan looks around for where Connor is before realising that would probably make what they’re talking about really obvious.

“Like, I know you two haven’t been close, but you were best friends back in the O, and you haven’t spoken to him all day?” Before Dylan can explain that he did talk to Connor before everyone else got here as he and Connor were early or on time like the good Canadian boys they are, Nick lowers his voice and asks, “Is he okay with the gay thing?” Dylan clamps his lips shut, trying his hardest not to think about exactly how okay Connor had been with the gay thing back then. “I don’t want to fight McJesus, but I’d do it for you, bro.” 

Dylan’s lips quirk at the sides, and he’s not sure if he’s more fond or amused. “You don’t have to. He’s cool. He, uh, he was the first person I came out to, you know, back in the day.” 

“Thank  _ fuck _ ,” Nick says, mouthing the second part of the phrase. “I really don’t want to be traded.” 

“I talked to him when he first got here, but you’re right, I should see how he’s getting on.” He does a proper swoop of the room for Connor now, finding him on his own making friends with one of Mo and Tessa’s dogs and that’s as good a cue as any for Dylan to join him. 

He grabs two beers on his way, part welcome gift, part something to do with his hands. Connor smiles when Dylan hands him one and sits beside him. “Thanks. I was wondering if we were going to get a chance to catch up. I didn’t want to interrupt your time with the guys.” 

“They’re your guys too, now,” Dylan says. 

“Maybe once training camp starts.” Connor smiles, “They seem like good guys.”

“They are.” Dylan loves this group. He can’t imagine leaving them and thinks that side of things must have been really hard for Connor. Before he can mention that the dog places his paws on Dylan’s lap. “Hey Hepburn, are you being a good boy? Saying hello to Connor?” 

“He’s gorgeous, what breed is he?” Connor reaches over to pat his head.

“A Nova Scotia duck tolling retriever,” Dylan reels off. It had taken him a while to get his head around that. 

Connor blinks. “Nice. He has great eyes.”

He does. Kind and thoughtful. “Have you brought your dog to Toronto?” Dylan had never unfollowed Connor on social media because it seemed the kind of thing people would notice, and he’s always enjoyed the dog content. 

Connor slumps. “No, he’s back in Edmonton with Kate.” 

“Are you two doing long distance?” Dylan can tell before he’s finished asking that they’re not. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. It wasn’t… It wasn’t just because I was moving, you know. But… seeing as I was the one who ended it and was leaving and with all the travel… it seemed pretty shitty to take Lenny too.” Dylan gets where he’s coming from, but saying yes sounds kind of rude so he makes a noncommittal sound of agreement. Connor looks around the room, “Is anyone going to be joining you here?”

It takes Dylan a second to parse what that means, it seems quite a roundabout way of asking if he’s single. “Nah. I had a breakup a few months ago, too. I hate them.” He still misses Elliott, but not in the biting way he had at first. “Breakups I mean, I hate breakups. Not the guy.” 

“Me too.” Connor takes a long sip of his beer. “Had you two been together long?”

“About a year.” Connor seems to be waiting for more, looking at Dylan with these expectant eyes he hasn’t seen in years but still feels like he needs to answer. “He didn’t want to date someone in the closet any longer.” 

Connor frowns. “But that’s your choice.”

“It’s not like he was demanding I come out or anything, there was no ultimatum.” Dylan rubs Hepburn’s head. “He just wanted to hold his boyfriend’s hand outside, I can’t blame him for that.” Dylan would like that too. 

“Guess not.” Connor doesn’t sound wholly convinced, however. He lowers his voice. “Are you, uh, out to everyone on the team? I don’t want to say something around someone I shouldn’t.”

Dylan’s not exactly sure what he’d say, but it’s not a bad idea to ask. “Everyone here knows, all the guys who’ve been around for a couple of years. The new guys don’t, other than you.”

“I - know.” He spaces the words out, lengthening them too, so that it’s hard to interpret what they might mean. Other than the fact that he definitely does know that Dylan’s gay.

There’s a silence and then Dylan laughs and Connor joins in and everything feels a little easier, lighter, all of a sudden. “I know you know.” It seems like the funniest thing in the world, how Connor knows this in a way no one else at this party does. And when Dylan looks at him as he laughs he’s reminded of how much fun they had together, how awesome it had been to play with his best friend. They were friends first, before all the messy kind of feelings. Maybe it could be actually kind of great to play with his friend again, and not the emotional minefield he’s been dreading. Or at least there might be more of the good moments than the tricky ones. 

“It’s going to be good to play together again,” he says, and means it. 

“Yeah?” There’s always been a bit of shyness to Connor and Dylan can hear it now and see it in the way he ducks his head down.

“Yeah. We just need to get Kyle to trade for Alex and the gang will be back together again.”

Connor laughs, but it’s not as big this time. “Otters forever.” It’s been a long time since Dylan has heard those words from him.

As if summoned by the mention of one of her favourite animals (Dylan had got her a whole bunch of otter related books when she was born, his favourite being  _ The Otter who Loved to Hold Hands _ ), Bea appears in front of them and flops down on Dylan’s knee. 

“You tired, Bea?” She has lost both tiaras along the way and her dress definitely isn’t as neat as it was earlier. “You’ve done a lot of running about with your friends, eh?” 

He doesn’t get a verbal answer, just a nod, and then Bea tuck herself in against his chest, her feet resting in the space between him and Connor. She seems more interested in him than she had earlier, her head directed towards him, slightly cocked to the side. Dylan decides to reintroduce him. “This is my friend, Connor. He’s going to play hockey with me and your daddy.”

Connor holds out his hand for what looks like it’s going to be a handshake before he turns it into a high five. “Hey Bea, are you having a good time?” He just gets a nod too. “How old are you?”

“Two,” Bea tells him, holding up two fingers. 

“Your birthday is in March,” Dylan adds. 

“You’re about the same age as my nephew, Sam,” Connor says. Dylan had forgotten Cam’s kid was born not too long after Bea was. 

Bea does not seem bowled over by this piece of information. She kicks her heels against the couch cushions before looking around the room. “Cake time?” she asks, pointing over to the dessert table that’s starting to look a little sparse.

“Cake sounds good,” Dylan agrees. “Connor, would you like some too?” 

Connor checks his phone. “Sorry, I’d love some, but I’m going to have to go. My aunt Kristy is having a family barbecue.”

“Nice. Tell everyone I said hi.” Dylan thinks he was at the 2014 version of that barbecue. 

“Sure.” They both stand up, Dylan putting Bea on his hip and Connor straightening his shirt. “It was good to meet you, Bea,” Connor says. He smiles at her and then looks up at Dylan. “And it was really good to see you before training camp. I’m really excited about this year.” 

“Me too, man.” He feels better about it now that he’s talked to Connor and is walking away heart intact and scars still healed. Maybe there was no need to make such a big deal of it in his head, he’s been fine about things for years now. 

“See you next week, yeah?” Connor pats his arm and he gets goosebumps but it’s probably just because it’s cold. It’s fine. “I’d better go find Morgan and Tessa and thank them.” 

Dylan and Bea, after some encouragement, wave and then head over to the dessert table where they have to fend off Mikko for the last slice of chocolate cake. They set up at the dining table to eat it because Bea needs a table and it’s there that Mo joins them. 

“How’s my favourite girl?” he asks, kneeling down beside Bea.

She sticks her plate right in front of his face. “Chocolate cake!” she says, in case it wasn’t clear from the mess on her face. The ‘h’ sound isn’t quite there yet, but it’s a great attempt. She’s shoving it in front of Morgan like she’s offering him some, but he shakes his head.

“No thank you, darling.” He turns his attention to Dylan. “It’s been a good day, yeah? People have been enjoying themselves?” 

“It’s been great,” Dylan assures him. “Everyone’s having such a good time.” Connor and the families with young kids have been the only ones to leave.

“You and Connor seemed to talk for a nice little bit,” Morgan says, with a very overstated casualness. 

“Yeah. It was good.” It was, more than he could have expected.

“Yeah?” Mo looks relieved. “Not too hard?”

Dylan shakes his head. He loves Morgan, but a little breathing space wouldn’t be a bad thing in this situation. “I haven’t been pining over him all this time you know.” 

“I know that. I just… I think it’s different with him being on the other side of the country to him being on your team.” 

“No, you’re right.” He very often is, and he doesn’t rub it in people’s faces either. Dylan doesn’t want him to think he’s ungrateful. “Thank you for always looking out for me.” He has from the very start.

Morgan gets up and holds out his arms. “Stand up and give me a hug, you’re not going to make an old man bend over, are you?”

Dylan does as he’s told, even though he rolls his eyes. “You’re not that old.” 

Footsteps join them. “Are we having a group hug without me?” Dylan doesn’t feel like explaining that a two person hug is just a hug, so he just holds out his arm for Nick to join. 

He’s missed this, being surrounded by his teammates, hugs with his best friends. It’s going to be a good year.

*****

Training camp is training camp, just this time with the added presence of Connor. Dylan had actually always enjoyed the first day back at school each year, and the start of camp has that same feel to it - a new beginning where you get to reunite with your old friends and maybe make some new ones, to meet the younger kids and see what the teachers have planned for you for the year. It’s good to see the guys they’ve just drafted in person, and to see how the prospects are coming along. This year though, the attention is on Connor.

It’s not that Dylan had forgotten how good Connor is, he doesn’t think he ever could, it just hadn’t been as immediate. They’d still shared the ice during games but it’s not the same as this. It’s certainly not the same as working on a power play with him again in special teams training, or even being put on the same line as him. It’s been a while since Dylan has been deployed as a winger, happily settled into his role as 2C, but he’d spent a decent amount of time on the left wing of Auston and John and he gets why, especially with them having played together as juniors, Keefe is trying it out. 

Playing with Connor isn’t as familiar as playing with Nick is, or as it was with John, but there’s still an ease that he’s never had with someone new to the team and he can hear the rumblings about how they still have that Erie chemistry. On the second day he assists Connor for this absolute beauty of a goal, and after Connor crashes straight into his arms like it’s eleven years ago. It takes the wind from him, but Connor’s smile is so bright and wide that Dylan can’t help joining in. The goals and assists keep coming after that and it almost feels like they’re teenagers again, playing with their friends in a tucked away little corner of the hockey world. 

Kyle is around on and off throughout the week, spending some of the time with them in Niagara and the rest back at front office. He calls Dylan over after practice one day and pats him on the shoulder. “You’re looking great out there.” 

“Thanks. I’m feeling good.” He’s worked hard over the offseason, he always does, and he hasn’t lost any of that speed he’s worked so hard to gain. “I liked your book recommendations by the way, especially the Cheryl Strayed one.” He had watched  _ Wild  _ a few years ago with his mom, but hadn’t known that Strayed wrote an advice column. 

“Good.” They both smile at Connor and Mo as they walk past. Dylan expects Kyle to call them over too, but he doesn’t. “I never got a chance to thank you for the assist in those negotiations,” Kyle says, nodding backwards in the direction of the rest of the leadership team. 

“The assist?” Dylan hadn’t done anything. 

“Connor mentioned how much he wanted to play with you again.” Kyle says this very lightly, but his look is quite intent. “I think he talked about how you’d agreed to less money for a better no movement clause and he wouldn’t mind doing the same, so you helped us there as well.”

Dylan could do with a moment to digest this away from his boss. “We were good together, back in Erie,” he offers in the end. 

Kyle looks out at the ice. “I think you’re good together now. I know we’ve had some changes since we won, but I think we’re ready for another big push.” 

“Absolutely. I think the boys are fired up this year.” It has been a hard loss to the Flyers last year, and he’s not sure how much it helped that they went on to win the Cup.

“You and Connor are integral to that, both on and off the ice.” Kyle pats his shoulder again. “So I’d better let you go do some of that leading and take care of the kids.” 

Dylan nods and shakes his hand, then heads for the changing room. 

He’s at a table with the quieter rookies during dinner (probably the quietest bunch he remembers in all his camps), which is fine, but drawing them into conversation does leave him feeling a bit like a camp counselor which Mitch always jokes is the assistant captain role during training camp. Dylan may have never been to camp, but he still feels confident that Mitch has the most camp counselor energy of just about anyone in the entire world, so he’ll take his word for it. They mostly seem to want to ask him questions at first, but after he goes through some of those he’s able to ask a few of his own and get them to open up a little. If they’re nervous talking to him, he can’t imagine what they’re like around Connor. It’s a little more tiring than dealing with a group of more outgoing guys, which feels a bit counterintuitive, but he gets that warm, contented buzz when they walk away looking more at ease. One of them is even calling him Stromer and not just avoiding any name whatsoever.

Nick was sitting more or less behind Dylan at another table, and after they’ve all finished up he wraps his arm around Dylan and whispers, “Do you remember when I was that quiet?”

“Yeah.” Dylan tucks Nick’s arm under his shoulder and rubs his hair while Nick tries to squirm out of his grasp. “I miss it every fucking day.” 

Nick had been so quiet at the start, both at the training camp after he got drafted and then the strange July one before they went into the bubble. He still is quiet now, with guys he doesn’t know so well or people outside the team. Dylan forgets about that sometimes as he’s always so talkative with him. 

Nick manages to escape, and then gives Dylan a solid elbow to the stomach that he probably deserves. “I’ll stop talking to you then, see how you like that.” 

“You’d never!” Dylan clutches at his chest, trying to make the eyes his eldest niece does when she wants one more piggyback. He’s not really looking where he’s going, which results in a near collision with Connor. Which is fine. Absolutely fine.

“Sorry, sorry,” Connor apologises.

“No, it was my fault.” Dylan claps him on the shoulder, because that seems appropriate. “You looked good out there today, Davo.”

Connor shrugs. “You helped.” 

Nick holds the door for them as they leave the restaurant, and thanking the wait staff has the added benefit of meaning that Dylan doesn't have to come up with a response yet. Nick continues to be helpful by keeping the conversation going. “So, is that what it was like when you two played together before? Just goals and assists the whole time? You see, I don’t think there’s much footage from back when you were in the O.”

“Shut up.” Dylan shoves him. “You’re not  _ that _ much younger than us.” 

“Doesn’t sound like it from how much complaining you were doing about your hips and your knees and your back any time we got bag skated last year.” Nick really milks it with the whiny emphasis on all those body parts that Dylan might possibly have griped about.

“Hey man, whatever about me, shouldn’t you be showing Davo here a bit of respect?” He gestures towards Connor, who nods very seriously. Dylan’s happy about that, it means Connor is settling in if he’s getting involved in joking around and doesn’t feel like he has to downplay himself. “He’s even older than I am.” 

Now it’s Connor shoving him. “By two months!”

“Nicholas!” They look ahead to see Will and Zach and some of the younger guys, Will shouting with his hands around his mouth. “Didn’t you want to come for a walk by the Falls?”

Nick just runs off. Dylan shouts back, “Nylander, where’s our invitation?” The light is dim, but he’s pretty sure he gets the finger in response. “Well, that was rude.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Do you want to go too?”

“Uh, yeah, sure.” Connor squints ahead. “I’m not sure about running though.”

“Oh, no way. I really am getting old.” They’re going to be turning thirty this season. 

Connor laughs, then rubs his face. “I guess we are.” 

“Feels like forever since my first training camp.” He’s been so scared and excited that he threw up that morning. 

“Yeah.” Connor’s quiet, then takes a deep breath. “Do you want to talk about it? Back then. When we…”

“No.” He feels bad for how harsh the word sounds, but it’s nothing like the unpleasant feeling he has all over his body. That’s a discussion he cannot handle, not right now. “It’s in the past. We shouldn’t exhume it.”

“Exhume?!” Connor splutters. “Since when do you use words like exhume?”

“I’m a smart guy!” 

“Stromer, you didn’t even go to college.”

Dylan laughs, so loud and clear that it peals through the air. “Neither did you! And I’m sure I had a better shot at getting in.”

“I was better at English than you,” Connor says, as if he has ever used exhume in daily conversation. “And I don’t know how you figured that one out when I was the two-time CHL Scholastic Player of the Year.”

“Sure, bud, but I’m the reason you passed Calculus.” For someone who said they didn’t want to talk about the past he’s edging dangerously close there. 

“Okay, you may have a point there,” Connor accepts. 

Dylan elbows him. “Must suck to be your accountant.”

“I just pretend like I know what she’s talking about and then get my dad to explain it,” Connor says, which is definitely a lie but it makes Dylan laugh anyway. 

They’re almost at the Falls now, passing a tourist shop that Dylan is pretty sure his family had gone to when he was about eight and Matty had demanded their mom buy the maple syrup cookies that were clearly overpriced and aimed at people not from Canada. They were good cookies though. 

“How are you finding the training camp?” he asks Connor.

Connor considers this. “It’s been good. I like Keefe, and getting to know the guys better.” He heaves a sigh all of a sudden. “It’s weird though. Not being with the Edmonton guys.” 

“You were there a long time.” He thinks if he’d been with another team since he was drafted home would have been the only place he’d have gone to willingly.

“Yeah. It’s weird playing with guys you’ve played against, too. Not you, obviously,” Connor says like it’s easy. 

“Kyle said you said you wanted to play with me again, during your talks,” he blurts out. 

It’s hard to tell in this light, but once upon a time Dylan was very familiar with how Connor’s complexion changed when he blushed, especially in the dark, and he thinks he sees his cheeks reddening a little now. “Uh, yeah, I did. What we had in Erie, it was special, you know?”

“Yeah. It was.” Dylan’s throat hurts, feels like it’s being scratched from the inside out. He doesn’t want to go down this road, the one he refused to take earlier. He jerks his head towards the statue to their right. “Do you think I should get a Tesla?”

Connor almost trips over his feet. “What?” 

“The car? They’re named after that guy.” He points this time. 

“Oh right. Uh, what kind of car do you have now?” They talk about cars until they get closer to the falls, and it feels safer but there’s some weird kick of disappointment too.

The falls are beautiful, especially at night, so beautiful that the larger group of guys is almost silent when they join them until they start taking photos. Willy starts sort of waltzing around humming what Dylan thinks is a romantic song from one of those Disney films about dogs, which should be weird, but isn’t because it’s Willy. Dylan joins him once he offers him his hand because he’s not going to leave the man hanging. 

They stay out there a little longer than they maybe should with being in the middle of training camp, but it feels right being here with his team. The team that now includes Connor.

*****

September starts going by quickly along with their pre-season games. The team gels closer together and Dylan gets that excited feeling in his stomach that only begins when he’s playing, when the season is nearly here.

It’s the first practice back after their final exhibition game and it feels like the whole room is buzzing. They’d done well in pre-season, winning five of the six games, and they’re so ready for the season to start.

Nick and Rasmus are having a competition over who can do the most keepy ups with tape that Dylan’s been wrangled into reffing because he’s “good with numbers” (he really hopes the rest of his team can also count). He’s so concentrated on this that he’s not really paying attention to the conversations around him, not until he hears Kerfoot yell “Davo’s got a date!”

Dylan keeps staring at the battle in front of him, glad that it means he can frown because it looks like he’s concentrating. He can bite his lip too and people won’t know that it’s because he feels like he’s deflating inside. It’s stupid. It’s so, so stupid. Connor mumbles something about a girl he met at a bar after their win over the Sabres (when did that happen? When Dylan was doing shots with the other Leafs lifers?) and how he’s meeting her for lunch while Dylan wonders how he’s let himself end up feeling this way. 

Everything had been under control, or so he thought. He’s been over Connor for years now, and he hadn’t felt any of the kind of pull or heartache he thought he might since he’s been around. Yeah, it had felt good when playing with him again, hanging out again even, but that was as friends. They’re friends now and these are not friends feelings in Dylan’s stomach. He needs to make them stop.

Nick drops his tape and swears. Dylan does his best to chirp him about being overconfident while Rasmus leans back and raises his arms in the air. 

His stomach settles a bit when Mo puts an arm around his shoulder. “Bea wants you to come over for lunch today. I’ll drive.” 

And then they’re leaving. Connor’s already gone and Dylan’s glad of it, grateful for the escape from some awkward conversation that makes him ache in a way he thought was over. Neither of them say anything until they’ve left the parking lot, Morgan just waiting for him.

“It’s not like I thought something was going to happen, you know?” He taps his fingers on the dashboard. “It’s so stupid. I thought I was done with this.” The last time he’d had some moments of wondering, yearning, had been after they won the Cup. Just some moments of thinking it would have been good to have Connor there, and then he’d taken a deep breath and moved on.

“Maybe it’s just the initial shock of it. You knew about his relationships after you before but… they weren’t right in front of you. And you’ve been spending more time together lately, the most since you were dating, right?” Dylan nods, almost automatically. “So maybe things are just kind of confusing right now.”

Dylan lets the words sink in for a minute, but can’t stop himself from asking, “Does it get easier?”

They don’t really talk about the way Mo had felt for Jake, they never have. The words haven’t ever been spoken that plainly either, Dylan just figured it out because being in love with a teammate had been his specialist subject back then. Dylan’s quite confident it has nothing to do with Morgan being uncomfortable with his own sexuality, after Dylan had come out to him he’d told him soon after that he was sometimes attracted to guys. He thinks it’s more to do with the fact that Jake had always been with Lucy, and Morgan was the kind of person to hold himself to some lofty standard of not having feelings for people in relationships. 

“Yeah. Definitely.” Mo chews his lip. “But it’s not like anything ever happened with me and Gards. You two were together the last time you were on the same team. This is new for you.” He smiles, a little wry. “You should talk to Tess about it seeing as she has experience of actually doing stuff with a teammate.” 

This is something they have discussed, back when Morgan and Tessa had first started seeing each other. Or more the idea of it, Dylan hadn’t been sure whether Tessa and her skating partner had ever been more than that until later. He’d thought then that there would be some weird sort of pressure about being with one half of Canada’s greatest love story, but, as his mom had once said after what might have been too many glasses of white wine, Morgan has broad shoulders. 

They talk about practice and Thanksgiving and the season opener against the Sens for the rest of the journey, until it feels like any other after practice trip to Mo and Tessa’s. They’re met in the hall by Bea who’s wearing her swimsuit and floaties. 

“Pool time!” she yells, “Mama and Daddy and Dylan!”

Morgan scoops her up. “How about just you and me and Mama and Dylan can watch?” Bea doesn’t seem like a huge fan of this, but Tessa looks relieved. “I just need to get trunks on first.”

He hands Bea over to Dylan, and Bea quickly starts to plead her case. “Dylan swim too.” 

“I’m sorry, kiddo. I don’t have the right things to wear.” He’s starving too. 

“Wear mine.” Bea tugs at the strap of her suit and then points upstairs, to her closet he guesses.

Dylan frowns, like he’s really thinking it through. “I just don’t think they would fit.” 

Tessa snorts. “Sure about that?” He really hopes she’s not going to make him try and put something over his head to see how far it would go. He’s saved by Morgan coming down and taking Bea out to the pool. “Do you want lunch before we talk?” she asks, heading towards the kitchen.

He follows her. “How do you know we’re going to talk?” It’s a redundant question, they were obviously going to talk even if there wasn't the whole Connor thing to discuss, but he still wants to know how she knows.

“Morgan gave me a look.” She shrugs and opens the fridge, handing him the lettuce and tomatoes and nodding towards the chopping board. He chops while Tessa gets the bread ready, because she’s particular about that kind of thing.

“I know those looks.” He must be the nervous rookie who needs the pep talk in this situation. Accurate enough, really. “Do you want to eat here or outside?”

“Outside. We can be part of pool time from a safe distance.” Tessa moves to head out before stopping. “Oh! I remembered to get some Coffee Crisp for you.” She bends down and produces two fun size ones from a bag in the cupboard and Dylan gets that home feeling in his heart. “But none until after you’ve eaten your lunch!”

“This mom shit has really got to you,” he says, right before they reach the hearing distance of a toddler.

“I know,” Tessa says, a little glum. “I think I used to be kind of cool, sometimes.” 

“I wouldn’t go that far,” he chirps, before they take time to praise Bea for what a great job she’s doing on their way over to the table. 

“Is this a talk while eating or after eating conversation?” Tessa asks, sandwich halfway to her mouth. 

“After.” He nods towards the loungers. “I can lie down and it will be just like therapy.”

“Cool.” Tessa screws up her face. “Wait, did your therapist actually make you do that?” 

“No, thank God. Jesus, that would be awful.” The whole experience had been vulnerable enough without that. 

When they do lie down on the loungers after, Tessa inevitably says, “Tell me about your feelings,” and doesn't seem to care how much he rolls his eyes at her. 

“It’s stupid,” he starts with, and then quickly continues because he knows Tessa is going to tell him that feelings aren’t stupid. Most of the time he would agree, but he can’t convince himself today. “Just… Connor has a date and Kerf announced it in the room and, I don’t know exactly how I felt, but definitely more than I would have thought I’d feel. And Mo thought I should talk to you because having had a thing with a teammate is kind of in your wheelhouse or whatever.”

Tessa snorts. “I guess I do have some experience there.”

“But like… that’s not the issue. I’m fine with that. I can play with Connor no problem.” It’s been nice, actually. “I just thought I’d moved past all this, that I wasn’t anything close to hung up on him anymore.” 

Tessa shifts in the lounger, trying to get comfortable. It’s one of those gorgeous hot days September can bring and Dylan closes his eyes and enjoys the heat. “Maybe it’s not about being hung up on him. He was the first person you had a serious relationship with, right?” Dylan murmurs something in the affirmative. “I don’t know if you ever really get over that person. Not in a pining way, just… as long as things didn’t end too badly there’s still a fondness there? Like, they were the first person you loved, and that’s special, and maybe some of that lingers.”

“I thought things ended pretty badly.” It’s not like he ever hated Connor though, thinks he might have tried. “But maybe it wasn’t so bad after all.” A part of him had always thought it would end that summer, somewhere in him there was a little preparation.

“And this is probably the first time you’ve been around him when he’s going on dates with someone else, or seeing someone.”

“That’s what Morgan said.” It comes out more grumbly that he would have liked.

Tessa laughs. “I guess we’re growing more alike. It is different though. Knowing they’re dating someone and then actually seeing it in front of you. It’s more… visceral. So maybe you’re having a late shot of that.” 

With his eyes closed the noises around them are louder - Bea and Mo splashing in the pool, the  _ Paw Patrol _ song they’re singing, Zoë and Hepburn’s snores as they lay out beside them. “It will get easier,” Tessa continues. “He’ll date someone, and you’ll date someone, and you’ll keep working together and you’ll figure things out. Maybe win some things along the way.” 

“Winning things does sound pretty good.” They never did get to win a championship together in Erie.

He has to open his eyes when Tessa starts speaking quietly, squints as they readjust to the light. “It’s not that it could never have worked.” He shifts his body so that he’s laying on his side, facing her. “Maybe it would have been easier, after, if I thought that, but I never really believed it.” There’s a smile that’s not really sad, but not quite happy either on her face. “If we’d done things differently at certain points I think it could have worked out. But if it had, then I wouldn’t have this.” Her smile now is blinding as she looks out at Morgan and Bea. “And there’s nothing I could want more than this.” 

The sigh he lets out isn’t intentional. “I want that.”

Tessa turns back to him. “Trying to steal my husband now, Strome?”

“No, definitely still running away with you.” It’s an old joke now, one they’ve had since some people on the internet lost their shit over photos of him hugging Tessa. That people thought they were having an affair was hilarious to anyone who actually knew them, but the things they’d said were nasty. Tessa had shrugged it off like that kind of thing happened to her all the time, and the thought that it had still makes him sad. Dylan’s had people being shitty about him on the internet since he was a teenager too, but not about his personal life. Not yet. 

“We’ll have the best time.” Tessa pauses. “Except for the lack of sex.” 

“Yeah, that isn’t great.” He taps his chin. “Maybe we should reconsider the torrid nature of our running away together.” 

Tessa takes his hand and squeezes. “You will, you know. Have this.”

“Yeah?” His mom tells him that too, and they seem so sure of it. It feels pretty far away to him. 

“Yeah. The husband and the house and the dog and the kid.” 

“Sounds nice.” He rubs his thumb along Tessa’s hand. “Maybe that was part of why it hurt earlier. That getting to that place is easier for Connor. I know if I had a date Kerfy would shout about it in the locker room too,” he has done, in fact, “but it’s all the stuff that comes after that. It’s like they’re on pause until I either come out or retire and I’m not ready for either of those yet.” With Elliott it had felt like maybe things could head that way, but it hadn’t worked out. 

Tessa shoves him over on the lounger, ignoring his protests, and wraps an arm around him. “This is going to sound patronising, but you’ve got time. I didn’t meet Morgan until the summer I turned 30. My sister didn’t meet her husband until she was 35.” 

“Guess I better up my attendance at Special Olympics events and start modelling for RW&Co, eh?” Like that’s going to happen, Dylan hates photoshoots.

“I’ll hook you up with some numbers,” Tessa promises. “Now, how do you feel about wine? I had some really shitty work calls earlier and I think it’s now an acceptable time for day drinking.” 

He stands up and tugs her with him. “Let’s go.” 

*****

The list of reasons Dylan is grateful he’s played his whole NHL career in Canada, specifically at home in Toronto, is a long one, but being in the country that celebrates Thanksgiving at the right time would definitely make the cut. November is much too close to Christmas, that type of meal and occasion should be spread out. There can’t be many players who’ve been able to eat most of their Thanksgiving meals in their childhood home; he knows he’s lucky. 

It’s been a different kind of gathering this year. His aunt and her family who usually join them are out in BC this year as her eldest is living there now, and his parents couldn’t get their heads around the idea of it just being the three of them and the dog with both Ryan and Matty in the U.S. this year. When Dylan had suggested the idea of inviting his European teammates (and Nick too, because they couldn’t leave him out) they’d jumped at the idea. Feeding hockey players was practically the default at the Strome house. 

The quiet is kind of strange now that all the guests have gone with their leftovers (Will with extra because he’s been his mom’s favourite ever since he used to ask how her dad was doing when he was sick). It doesn’t last for long once they get both Ryan and Matt on FaceTime, with Ryan’s girls and Sydney and Ella popping in and out. It can be tough to time these calls with Ryan out in Anaheim, but they’ve managed to find a sweet spot. 

This call is a more relaxed one than they’ve had at the start of other seasons. Matt seems content out in Austin with the Texas Stars, had called Dylan during training camp and preseason, and talked about how the team was doing and how he was looking forward to the season. Dylan had tried not to press so much, or avoid the subject, which might have helped too. Maybe this year he can start feeling a little less guilty about all the pouting he did at getting sent down to a team he loved for a season that ended in a championship. 

Even with the feeling that Matt is content with where he is, they still don’t dwell on the upcoming opening games. Both Matt and Ryan are away for theirs, but the Leafs will play at home. 

“Mom and Dad always having their favourite son close,” Ryan jokes while Dylan just rolls his eyes. 

“It’s true,” their mom says, which is weird. She never usually pays any attention to those chirps (probably because the favourite child is definitely Matt). And then she rubs Wrigley’s head, “We always have him right here.” 

None of them can argue with that. He’s the best dog. Dylan would like to have him around all the time, but it wouldn’t really work out with being on the road so much. He just hopes it hadn’t been too obvious that his visits to his parents became significantly more frequent and longer lasting after they got Wrigley. 

Wrigley even keeps them company when he’s helping his mom tidy away their dessert things while his dad puts away the first clean load from the dishwasher. “I’m glad we had the boys over today,” she says. She pats his hand quickly, “I hope it made things easier on you.”

It takes him a second to figure out what she means. Elliott had been with them last year, the first time Dylan had ever brought anyone home for something like that. Except Connor, he guesses. “I’m okay,” he assures her. He’d thought about him this morning, how different things had been last year when it felt like that might be the first of maybe many they would spend together, but he hadn’t dwelt on that. He got to spend Thanksgiving with his parents and his friends and that was pretty great 

“He sent me a nice message this morning on Facebook when I posted a picture of the pies I made.” It sounds like there should be a question mark on the end of that, like she’s teasing something out. 

“He’s a nice guy.” He is, but Dylan hopes his mom isn’t holding out hope because he thinks that ship has well and truly sailed. 

His dad claps him on the back. “And there are plenty of other nice guys out there for Dylan to date.” He still feels a ray of something warm whenever his dad says stuff that’s so obviously supportive. It’s not that he’d been bad about it when Dylan came out, just worried, but it had taken Dylan a while to understand that.

His mom does not seem to have picked up on that being an ideal conversation ender. “Are you seeing anyone at the moment? Or talking to anyone?” 

Dylan shakes his head “Just focusing on the start of the season.” He’d hooked up over the summer, but that’s all it had really been. It’s not like he’d wanted anything more from that particular relationship, but he did want more in general. Just maybe not quite right now.

That seems to be the hint his mom will pick up on, so they move on to talking about the upcoming season opener against the Sens.

The game comes around quick. Morning practice is a fun one, guys practically bouncing off the walls. Connor is particularly buoyant, and the reason becomes clear when he really does bound over to Dylan and shoves his phone in his face before they head home.

On the screen is a photo of Connor and a dog that Dylan immediately recognises as Lenny. It has to be a recent one because Connor looks exactly the same as he does right now in real life, down to the widest smile Dylan has seen him wear in years. “Did he come out for a visit, or…”

“To stay!” The grin falters a little. “It’s actually pretty sad, but he was kind of… moping, I guess, without me? And Kate thought he’d be happier here so she arranged with my mom to have him travel over. He just arrived last night.” Connor takes his phone back only to swipe through so Dylan can see a bunch of very cute photos documenting their reunion. In at least one of them there are definite tears in Connor’s eyes and Dylan can’t help but put his hand on the shoulder of the Connor in front of him.

“That’s awesome, man,” he tells him, with enough sincerity that it almost trips him up. “You both look so happy.” 

Connor looks like he might start levitating soon. “It’s the best. The only issue is us going on the road, but he can stay with my parents, or Cam and Liz. And my apartment is sort of small for him, but I should probably look about getting a house anyway now that I’m here for good.” 

Dylan should maybe look about getting a house too, but he’s always seen houses as something for families. Maybe always been a little afraid that if he got one he’d have to leave it. His no movement clause is live now though. “Are you going to get a goal for him tonight?” He nudges Connor who laughs.

“I’d better. Poor guy was in the hold for hours.” Connor’s face is full-on stricken at the idea of it and Dylan jostles him along towards the door to the locker room.

“We’d better get you back to him before the game then, eh?” 

The goal takes a long time to come. There’s a tension in the building even though the game always feels like it’s under their own control. The Sens are a pretty damn decent team again but a goal from Willy in the first period and then Dylan getting a backhanded one of his own in the second seems to put a lid on things. The crowd wants a goal from Connor though. He clearly wants one too, trying shot after shot but nothing quite comes off.

The Leafs get a late power play and then the pass is there to tap to Connor. The goalie thinks the shot will come from Dylan and the puck is in the back of the net before he notices the real threat. 

Scotiabank is the type of loud Dylan feels through his whole body and Connor is jumping into his arms and it all feels kind of like a dream he might have had one time. But it’s real. 

The noise is still ringing in his ears when they’re back in the locker room and the reporters are all around. They’re mainly swarming Connor, but he gets a few as well, wanting to hear about what it’s like to play together again. It’s not a lie when he tells them it’s even better than he could have expected. 

There’s talk of going out, but Connor seems to slip away before they decide on a place. Dylan doesn’t notice him go as he’s busy trying to build up one of the rookies who had a rough go of things on the fourth line. 

Will and Nick are still debating the best place to go as they enter the hall. A voice is calling Dylan over before he even sees Connor and his family. 

“Hi Mrs. McDavid.” He’s greeted with a tap on the arm and then a hug.

“Dylan! I told you to call me Kelly a very long time ago.” He thought that might have worn off by now.

“Don’t try it with me,” Brian warns as he shakes his hand. “You played great tonight. It’s good to see you.”

“It’s great to see you, too,” Dylan says, and means it. The McDavids had always been so good to him. Surprisingly chill about Connor coming home with a boyfriend too. They had even phoned Dylan up after the Leafs won the Cup, an act of kindness so unnecessary that it was completely them. “You must be so happy to have Connor back home.” 

“Oh yes, it’s wonderful having everyone close again,” Kelly says. “Have you met Cam’s wife, Liz, and their son?”

Cam pauses his conversation with Connor, Will and Nick to squeeze Dylan’s shoulder before introducing him to his family. Liz is sweet and friendly and is definitely somehow telegraphing with some subtle eyebrow movement that she knows about Dylan and Connor’s past. Their son is very cute and very sleepy.

“Hey Sam,” Dylan says softly, putting out his palm for a high five. “That’s a really cool jersey you have there, is it Uncle Connor’s?” Sam nods, then burrows into Liz’s neck but tangles his fingers with Dylan’s. “That’s awesome, bud. Did you have a good time tonight?” This gets another nod, and a big yawn. Dylan untangles their hands. “It’s getting late, huh? We’ll try and get an earlier game for you next time.” 

When he turns back around Connor is sort of grimacing and at first Dylan worries he’s picked up a knock, and then that he’s not keen on Dylan making friends with his nephew. He seems to shake it off fast though, smiling and saying, “You coming out, Stromer? Or are you going home with my family?” 

Dylan turns to Kelly. “Do you have any of those chocolate chip cookies you used to make at home?” She laughs and nods and Dylan holds his hands up. “No real choice here.” 

The worry it might be a step too far lessens when Connor grabs his arm and pulls him along as he waves goodbye to the McDavids. Not for the first time that night it feels like a moment from long ago.

*****

Dylan is reading his word of the day (turgid: excessively embellished in style or language, being in a state of distension) while he waits for his coffee to be ready to transfer to his travel mug when Morgan calls. 

He sounds terrible. “Hey Dylan. You remember how I thought Bea was coming down with something?” Dylan knows where this is going. “She definitely was. And now we all have it.” 

“I take it you’re not flying out to Calgary?” He checks his watch to see how much time he has before he needs to leave. 

“No, I’ll join you guys later. Do you remember the first time we played Edmonton after you got called up and you got really, really wasted?” Dylan’s stomach rolls. Spilling his guts both literally and metaphorically in Morgan Rielly’s hotel bathroom had not been part of his plan on how to integrate into the team. “It would be like that. But on a plane. And a million times worse. And lasting much longer.” 

“That’s grim.” Dylan takes a sip of coffee, regrets it and tries to blow on his tongue, then grabs his suitcase.

“Beyond grim.” Morgan’s stomach makes a grumbling sound and Dylan is ready to hang up with a few shouted hopes that everyone feels better soon before Morgan even makes his goodbyes.

He’s still feeling a little queasy by the time he gets on the plane and is starting to question whether he sat too close to his captain the day before. Connor arrives soon after and sits beside him. Dylan is about to warn him that Nick won’t take kindly to his seat being taken, but Connor hasn’t closed his seatbelt so he isn’t staying. He always does that as soon as he gets on a plane.

“Do you usually arrive early to things now, Stromer?” he asks.

“I’ve matured.” Connor just raised his eyebrows. “Morgan is sick so I figured someone should be here early.” 

“We just got the email. He must be bad if he’s not coming.” 

Dylan could have confirmed that even if he hadn’t spoken with Morgan, he’s known him play through all sorts of illnesses and injuries. They’ve all done it. “He sounded awful on the phone.” His hand moves to protect his stomach. “I really hope I didn’t pick anything up from him.”

Connor screws up his face. “Do you remember when we all got food poisoning from that diner in Sarnia?” 

“Don’t.” He thinks he can smell how sour the bus had been, can definitely still picture Connor’s head on his lap. 

Any more memory sharing is interrupted when Nick arrives and almost stumbles on top of them. “That’s my seat. Uh, unless…” 

Connor stands up and smiles, walking over to the seat he’s been taking beside Morgan. “Don’t worry, not trying to mess with your seating arrangement.”

“Good,” Nick says, sounding a lot more confident now. “This wins games, you know.” It also definitely loses them seeing as this is the way they’ve done things since Nick was called up, but they won’t mention that.

The plane starts filling up, the Swedes arriving en masse. “Since Mo’s out, are you our dad now, Dylan?” Rasmus calls. 

Will shakes his head. “Dylan’s definitely team mom. It’s the Pisces in him.” Dylan doesn’t think Willy actually got into astrology during self-isolation in 2020, he thinks he just knows the star signs and puts them together with random words. Anything Dylan does is greeted with “You’re a Pisces, Dylan,” like Will is fucking Hagrid.

“I’m the cool uncle,” Dylan insists. Which is actually true if any of them were to ask his nieces.

Will actually leans over and ruffles his hair. “You’ve never been cool a day in your life.” 

Connor interrupts the laughter, “Stromer did manage to get us all beers from a liquor store in Erie, so that was pretty cool.”

“Thanks Davo.” At least someone has his back.

“Isn’t Erie in Pennsylvania though?” asks Kerfoot, like because he went to Harvard he’s a geographer or something. “Was that even hard?” 

Connor shrugs his shoulders as if to say that Kerfy might have a point so Dylan throws the paper bag from the pouch on his chair at his head. Fucking traitor. 

Nick pats his shoulder. “We love you anyway.” 

Dylan’s not sure whether it’s love or anger or stupidity that leads him to drop the gloves with the Flames’ wannabe Matt Tkachuk Jr after he puts in a dirty hit on Nick, but it leaves him sitting in the penalty box watching the end of the game. 

It’s an easy win for the Leafs, easier than they’d expected, but he doesn’t feel much like celebrating as they make their way to the visitors’ locker room. Connor seems to appear beside him, his gaze more intent than Dylan is used to. “You fight much now?” he asks, with a nonchalance that doesn’t come across as natural. He’s rubbing his thumb against his finger. 

Before Dylan can answer, Will throws an arm around his shoulders. “What’s that, two fights in three years? You’re a regular brawler now.” 

“Yeah, dropping the gloves at any given opportunity.” The last fight had been with some short-lived callup in St Louis who’d taken exception to Dylan’s permanent use of rainbow tape for his stick after he became a You Can Play ambassador. 

“Going to get that checked out?” It’s a question turning towards an order from Connor, complete with a head twist in the direction of Dylan’s cheek where he can feel a bruise starting to form.

“After I check on Nick.”

He ends up having to do media first, because apparently people are interested when he fights. His responses about standing up for teammates and hoping he didn’t worry his mom seem to go down okay and after he texts his parents and then Morgan he heads for the athletic trainers. Caroline refuses to tell him anything about Nick until after she cleans the marks on his face, but she does let him into the side room to see him once that’s done. The darkness is enough to confirm it’s a likely concussion and Dylan feels that familiar shiver at his neck.

It lifts a little when he sees Nick grin. “Heard you were fighting for my honour?” 

“Didn’t know you had any.” He perches carefully on the side of the bed. “Just felt like a scrap.”

“Uh huh, Dylan Strome, noted goon, strikes again.” Nick punches his back and it kind of sucks that he can’t hit him back right now. “You shouldn’t be putting yourself in harm’s way for me.”

“It was a nasty hit,” he says, the same answer he gave the reporters. The kind of one that replays in his head when he closes his eyes. “You’re good to go back to the hotel, right?”

“Yeah, just need someone to keep an eye on me.” It’s a protocol they’re all probably too familiar with. 

“Don’t know who we’ll find that’s willing to put up with you, but I guess I can go bully some of the kids.”

Dylan does find two of the kids, and gives them his and Nick’s room keys in exchange for the ones to the room they’re sharing. He tells the rest of the guys to enjoy the win, but not too much, and gives them the good news that Morgan will be joining them for the rest of the Western Canada swing. 

Sharing a room would be nicer if Nick was in the mood for talking, but once they move their stuff into their new digs and turn off all the lights he’s ready to sleep. He’s still well able to hold a conversation, he’s just tired, so Dylan doesn’t try to keep him up. The snoring starts soon after Nick nods off so he’s getting all the negative parts of sharing a room without the good ones. He’d been happy to have his own space once he finished up his ELC, but sometimes, especially after a loss, he’s missed knowing someone is right there and feeling the same way. 

The TV isn’t an option and he’s even worried about his phone screen being too bright, so he ends up huddled under the covers scrolling through Instagram and messaging friends around the league. Brinksy’s in the middle of telling a story about Ralph’s adventure at the vet, while Nolan Patrick is giving a detailed rundown on TK’s commentary of Dylan’s fight, when a text pops up from Connor. 

_ Are you in room 635 now? _

He replies with a yes and it’s not time at all before he gets  _ Outside _ in return. 

The hotel carpet is a thick one which helps with his attempt to walk quietly to the door. Somehow, he’s still surprised to find Connor standing there with a six pack when he opens it.

“I, uh, thought you might like some company.” Connor traces the wavy pattern on the hall carpet with his shoe. “Or at least a few beers. Doesn't seem fair that you’re here when everyone else is out celebrating.” 

Sitting outside in the hall doesn’t seem a great idea, from a watching Nick perspective and a privacy one, so he lets Connor in. “We’re going to have to sit here I think,” he whispers, gesturing uselessly in the dark entranceway. “And be quiet.”

“Sure,” Connor whispers back. He slides his back down the wall until he’s sitting on the ground and Dylan follows suit. “How is he doing?”

“Pretty good, all things considered. He wasn’t nauseous or dizzy or anything, just didn’t want bright lights.” Dylan sticks his phone in the sleeve of the henley he’s wearing, letting it peek out just enough so that Connor can use it and the light from the hall to help him open the beers. The crack of the can opening sounds impossibly loud, but it doesn’t disturb Nick’s snores. 

“They’re scary. Concussions.” Connor hands Dylan the first beer. The opening of the second one feels just as loud.

Concussions have freaked Dylan out for as long as he’s known what they are. His whole family had seen Ryan stumble off the ice back when he was playing bantam, his mom’s face pinched and his dad’s lips in a tight line. They’d both stayed up with Ryan all night and Matty had climbed into bed with Dylan because he couldn’t get to sleep on his own. Dylan had been glad to have him there, hadn’t even pretended to be annoyed over it. 

Connor’s one of the few people who know that story. 

“Yeah. They are.” He sips his beer. “Our trainers are really good though, they know what they’re doing.” 

“For sure. I still feel pretty human six weeks in so they must be doing something right.”

“I thought you were supposed to be superhuman?” he chirps, keeping his tone extra light seeing as Connor won’t be able to read his expression in the dark. Toronto has been nothing short of jubilant with the returning hometown hero’s start to the season. 

“I think they’re going with Superman Strome and McJesus, actually,” Connor fires back. 

“That was one article, bud.” That had been linked to him relentlessly as soon as it was posted. 

He can hear Connor dragging his finger up and down the side of the can. “We’ve been good though. You and me.” He stretches his legs out so they reach the other wall and it looks funny in this light. “Maybe this year we’ll finally get to go to the All Stars together.”

Connor had been injured the time Dylan got invited (after Matts was injured too and John and Aryne had just had their youngest). “Bit early for that.” 

“Do you ever plan on getting good at accepting compliments?” Connor is shaking his head. It’s all a bit rich coming from Mr Humble.

“I don’t know, is it going to improve my game?” he jokes.

“It’s not like it’s going to hurt it.” Practically anyone else would have turned that into a chirp, but Connor plays it straight. He’s been earnest since the first day Dylan met him, shaking his hand like they were adults not boys and telling him he was excited for them to play together. “It’s okay to admit you’re good.”

“I’m okay,” he allows. “I work hard.” Hard enough that maybe even Babcock wouldn’t shout at him quite so much anymore if he were still around. He’d sent him a text after they won the Cup, something about how he’d been so hard on him to lead to a night like that. Dylan never replied. 

“You’re leading the team for assists, I think that’s more than okay.” Connor’s voice is mild, but stubborn.

Dylan just wants to move on from this topic, but instead of going for something easy like the next game or the weird dating show Kerfoot is into, he asks, “Do you miss being captain?” It must sound completely out of left field to Connor, but he’d been thinking about it today with Morgan gone and how the rest of the guys had looked to Dylan to speak before the game.

“No. Not really. I miss the guys back in Edmonton, and I guess part of that was being their captain, but I wouldn’t have wanted to come in and be captain here. Mo’s a great C, and I think not being one… it’s lifted some pressure maybe. Which is nice.” Dylan’s not sure he’s thought enough about the pressure Connor would have had moving to Toronto. Or about the pressure he’s going to have playing in Rogers Place in two days’ time. 

“You’ve always had too much pressure on you.” He pushes his legs out and bumps Connor’s by accident. “I’m glad a little bit is gone.” 

“It’s easier around, uh, the team, you know?” Connor cracks open another set of beers for them, and Dylan tries not to think too much about how it feels when their fingers brush. Wanting to think about it is just some throwback to when they used to stay up late talking in hotel rooms. Connor had found things easier around the team then too, around Dylan in particular. But that’s not the best thought avenue for tonight.

“Yeah. That’s good. Is there anything else that would make it easier?” Even when he hadn’t wanted to think about Connor he wanted things to be easier for him.

“I don’t know.” Connor snorts. “Maybe you can give me some fighting tips so I can add a new aspect to my game.”

“I’m an expert now,” Dylan deadpans. He taps his beer. “I haven’t really been fighting much though. Just that one and one other time.”

“Dylan, I would know if you’d been fighting.” He says it like it should be obvious, then shifts so that he’s facing him. “Does it hurt?”

Dylan can see him leaning closer, can feel it too. His cheek itches more, almost like it wants to be touched. “It’s fine. Just a scratch, probably a bruise in the morning.” 

“What’s Trish going to say about that?” She’s never been a fan of fighting. 

“Ask me how I’m going to meet a nice boy looking like this, probably.” The words are out of his mouth before he can think that Connor might not be the right recipient of that joke. Or accurate observation. 

“I don’t think that, I mean… Nice boys could be into that, you know?” His voice is edging a little higher. “Are you looking for someone right now?”

“Not really. Dating is hard. Like, for everyone, but it’s especially hard…” He doesn’t really know the best way of putting it. When you’re gay in the NHL? 

“Of course,” Connor murmurs.

“Maybe I’ll just have Will set me up again. He did a good job last time.” It wasn’t his fault it ended, wasn’t anyone’s really. 

“He set you up with your ex?” Dylan can’t really interpret Connor’s tone. It’s a bit harder than curious.

“Yeah. Elliott was his real estate agent.” Dylan still hasn’t quite figured out how Will came to the conclusion that asking his real estate agent whether he wanted to go out with his closeted by cicrumstance of occupation friend was a normal course of action, but he’s filed it under Just William Nylander Things. 

There’s a weird groan to their left. “Dylan, are you talking to yourself?” Nick asks. 

Connor stiffens beside him. “No, Connor is here. Sorry for waking you.” His stomach drops. He thought they were being quiet. 

“You two having a sleepover? Get a traumatic fucking brain injury and your best bud leaves you for his childhood best friend. Typical.” 

Dylan talks over Connor’s apologies to tell Nick to go back to sleep. 

“I should probably leave.” Connor’s whisper is now so quiet it takes a beat longer to decipher. 

“Yeah, we could probably all do with some sleep.” They scramble to their feet, trying to be as silent as they can. “Thanks for coming.” 

He steps closer and hugs Connor, lets it linger for a little longer than he has any other time they’ve done this these past few weeks. 

It’s easier, in the dark. 

*****

Dylan hasn’t seen Connor this nervous in a long, long time. He wasn’t even this bad in the leadup to the draft. 

No one else seems to have picked up on it, but all the signs are there. He eats his breakfast way too slowly, he keeps worrying his bottom lip, he keeps checking to make sure he has everything. 

As Dylan walks over to Rogers Place from the hotel with Mo he can see Connor in front of them, walking in on his own, hands in his pockets. Dylan leans closer to Morgan, but not too close because he knows he waited 48 hours before joining them but he’d still looked kind of grey when he arrived last night. Dylan does not want to catch that thing. “I think you should talk to Connor, this must be hard for him.”

Morgan raises a single eyebrow and says “Think this is your show, bud,” before shoving him forward.

It’s easy to catch up with Connor who seems to be slowing down. The smile on his face when he sees Dylan is grateful, so Dylan probably has to give this one to Morgan. “Hey, how are you?”

“I’m good. How are you though?” He’d meant to keep things chill, but he’s pretty sure that’s the exact same tone his mom uses.

Connor looks up at the arena in front of them. “It’s harder than I thought it would be.” He’s quiet as they make their way through the doors until he makes polite small talk with the security guys, then starts up again once they’ve passed them. “People here weren’t exactly happy when I left. I don't know how the crowd will be tonight. You were in Long Island that night JT went back for the first time, right?”

Dylan’s stomach drops. “It’s not going to be like that.” The whole Pyjama Boy thing had been hilarious in an absurd way, but he thinks John had been hurt underneath all the stiff upper lip and brushing it off by all the shouting and the stuff being thrown on the ice. And Connor has always been sensitive. “There’ll be some shouting and shit, yeah. But that was crazy. That was  _ Long Island _ crazy.” He looks around and finds himself in an unfamiliar part of the building. “Hey, Con, I think we might have gone too far. Visitors’ dressing room is that way.”

Connor’s face clouds over and his mouth droops. Dylan claps an arm around his shoulder. “How about I lead the way?” Connor tips his head against Dylan’s for a second, so short it must have been an accident. “Uh, so, I know it’s going to be weird, but you’re going to get to see your guys, that’s good, yeah?” He gets a smile. “You going to go out with them after?” 

“Yeah, we have a few places we like. It’s going to be weird going back to a hotel after.”

“You didn’t keep your house?” Dylan asks, regretting it after as he doesn’t think it quite fits in with his plan to keep things light.

“No.” Connor turns his head towards him and they feel very close all of a sudden. The minty smell of his toothpaste is in the air now, almost able to be tasted, and it’s a bit too much but it feels unfair to let go when Connor looks like he’s about to say something important. “It never really felt like home here.” His voice is so quiet, like his words are something scandalous. They’re something that should maybe rock this building, but it stays standing.

Dylan squeezes his shoulder before stepping back as they reach the door of the locker room. “Good thing you’re back with us then.”

There are a good few Oilers still knocking about when they make their way out for practice and the way they light up when they see Connor makes Dylan happier, so it surely should do wonders for Connor. He’s never seen Draisaitl smile this much, it’s almost unnerving. Leon greets Dylan like they’re old friends when he passes him, though Dylan is pretty sure they’ve maybe had one proper conversation when halfway tipsy at the All-Star Game in which Leon mainly talked about how he’d prefer to be at home with his girlfriend and their dog. It’s really quite the smile.

It’s a nice short practice and Connor seems more relaxed throughout. Dylan is about to follow him off the ice when he’s pulled back. Will pats his head. “You’re hovering.” He does some sort of bastardised twirl to end up standing in front of Dylan. “Let him come to you.” 

“I’m not hovering!” Will crosses his arms and raises his eyebrows. “Not much! This is hard for him, he needs some support.” 

“He’ll ask if he needs it.” Dylan would really like to pull rank here seeing as he’s known Connor longest, but Will is good at reading people and they’ve known this version of Connor for the same amount of time. Maybe he does need some space. “You need to do less worrying and more napping, it’s the most important part of the day.” 

After returning to the arena following said nap, and a phone call with his brothers that leaves him arriving not late but later than he’d like, it takes one look at Connor for Dylan to think he should have listened to his gut. He’s fumbling while changing, his whole face set in stone. Dylan gets his gear and takes it over to the empty stall beside him. Nick isn’t here to mind being abandoned, he’ll be up in the press box with Mo who’s not quite ready for a game either. 

“How are you doing?” he asks.

Connor answers with a gruff “Fine,” that Dylan waits out. “I think I just want it over with. Waiting is the worst, I just want to be out there and get through it. It will be okay when I’m playing.” He flops down to the seat, his hands going to his hair. 

Dylan places his hand on Connor’s knee, keeping his touch gentle at first in case Connor wants to shrug him off before letting it settle. “You gave so much to this team. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to go home. You gave them everything you had, for years, and most people aren’t going to forget that. And I don’t know that you would ever have been able to please the ones who do.” 

One time in therapy Dylan had been monologuing about how the fans who called him a waste of space (he used very polite language in front of his therapist at first) just really cared about the team and how he should be grateful for them. His therapist had raised her eyebrows and said, “There’s a difference between saying someone can improve and saying they’re a waste of space. Would you accept that from anyone else in your life?” The ensuing revelation that Dylan would and did is probably what kept him in therapy for so long. It had taken him a while, but he has since come around to the idea that it’s okay to not be okay with people calling him a fucking loser who has no business playing for the Leafs. 

He’s not going to feed Connor some story about how it’s people just showing their passion. There are better ways to show passion than turning on someone who worked his ass off for a team for a decade. Connor deserves better than that. 

“It’s hockey,” he says. “We just need to go and play some hockey.”

And after some shouting of the welcoming and not-so-welcoming kind and a very classy tribute video, they do. 

Connor scores. Twice.

*****

Dylan had learned that it was impossible to say no to Elaine back when she was an intern (not that he ever actually refuses intern requests, some of them just pretend that they’re bargaining with him), now that she’s the Director of Public Relations it’s probably not even allowed. He still tries when she informs him that he and Connor are going to be shooting a Leaf to Leaf video together.

“I know that people in the comments wanted a rematch of that Connect Four battle Nick and I had last year. Or I could do one with Mo again?” Morgan is Elaine’s favourite, Dylan isn’t averse to playing dirty. 

“People in the comments have been demanding you and Connor since the start of the season. This is our holiday gift to them.” Elaine frowns momentarily, then beckons him as she moves to the side of the hall, out of the way of everyone else who’s leaving practice. “You two are friends, right? I see you together a lot. I’m not going to force you to do it if it won’t be at least a little enjoyable.”

“We are. We like spending time together. It’s just…” He doesn’t know that he wants to spend time with Connor on camera, just the two of them. 

“ _ Oh. _ ” Elaine squeezes his elbow and gives him the universal ‘sorry you have a thing for a straight person, bud’ smile. “Hey, if it would be too much…”

Dylan ignores his want to tell her he’s not as pathetic as she thinks, that he actually did date Connor back when they were teenagers. “No, no, it’s fine. It’ll be good.”

“Yeah?” She looks relieved. People really must want this video

“Yeah. Anything for you.” 

There are pastries from his favourite bakery waiting for him when he goes in to film, so forgiving Elaine for asking might be pretty easy. Connor comes in carrying two coffees and a tied white box soon after, frowning for just a second when he sees the spread in front of him. “I didn’t know we were going to have food provided.” 

Dylan wipes some flakes from his almond croissant that are collecting around his lips. “I always thought Morgan was Elaine’s favourite, but maybe it’s actually me.” He takes the cup that Connor hands him.

“If this type of thing is new this season it could be me,” Connor counters. 

Elaine appears behind them. “I have no favourites!” This is a blatant lie seeing as at one of the Cup celebrations after they won she told Morgan that he was with an open champagne bottle in her hand. Dylan is surprised she’s here, the social media people usually handle Leaf to Leaf. “Once you two have had your snacks you can come over to the table. It’s just going to be a casual thing, answering some Twitter questions and a game.”

Dylan really should have put more effort in beforehand to get a hold of those questions. “Sounds good!” Elaine goes over to the camera operator and he turns back to Connor. “How bad would it be if I had another pastry?”

Connor makes a show of looking around the room. “There are definitely more pastries than people here.” He grins. “And you got three points last night, I think that deserves a reward.” Dylan takes a fruit tart, while Connor takes a strawberry one. “I don’t like doing these things,” he says, nodding towards the filming set-up. “I’m glad it’s with you.” 

“It will be fun,” Dylan says, feeling something close to guilty about not having loved this idea. 

It actually is pretty fun. The questions are a mix between common ones they’ve been asked a lot this season, some stats trivia ones directed at him, some looking back to their juniors days, and some more offbeat ones. Dylan was certainly not expecting to answer a question from Twitter user willymyastrologyking about whether they think they were destined to play together as they were born in 1997 and their numbers are 19 and 97. 

It’s probably unfortunate that the next question asks how they felt at the draft and how their friendship changed when playing for different teams. Dylan’s running through a response in his head when Connor says, “I don’t think I handled that very well, to be honest.” Dylan doesn’t even know what his face is doing to be able to school it into some interview appropriate shape. “I was jealous, I think, that Dylan got to stay at home and play for our hometown team. And I was afraid that we’d drift apart and maybe I cut some contact before that could happen.” 

What the fuck. Connor is shuffling the cards the tweets were printed on, not looking up at all. He’s never admitted he was jealous before. They’ve never talked about this before. There hadn’t been a chance with the abrupt end Connor had insisted on. Dylan doesn't think on camera in a room full of people is the time to bring it up. 

It takes him a moment to figure out anger is what he’s feeling. Dylan’s therapist had been big on the concept of the anger iceberg - that anger could be the emotion on the surface and underneath it were other ones like disappointment or worry or sadness. With Connor back then though, Dylan thinks it might almost have been the opposite. He couldn’t let himself be angry at Connor, not when he loved him, not when Connor was probably making sense. Anger seems appropriate now, right up until it doesn't. 

Connor looks up at him, just a sneaking glance, a tentative one, and it’s too vulnerable, too open. Dylan can’t abandon him out here, can’t leave him to flounder alone. Anyway, he has to be professional. 

“I could have been better, could have made more of an effort to keep in touch.” Once he’s said the words out loud he realises that they’re true. “And, uh, we’re here now, together.” 

Connor looks up again, smiling this time, and Dylan returns one in spite of himself. 

Elaine clears her throat. “So, that was great! Time for the game now?” 

She presents them with playing cards with the faces of the team printed on them and informs them that they’re playing Snap. Dylan’s grateful for the distraction, neither of them are going to be dwelling on the past or thinking about their feelings when there’s a competition at stake. 

It would be embarrassing how involved he gets in the game, except that Connor is even worse. He demands a best of three after Dylan wins, and Dylan agrees because it’s too entertaining not to and he wants to prove his win wasn’t a fluke (though it might have been, he’s not sure that Snap is a game of skill). The shouts of ‘Snap!’ get louder and the banging of hands on the table more vigorous as the game progresses until Connor ends up having to squeeze his hand after a particularly over the top response.

“Are you okay?” Dylan asks. Connor nods quickly and his hand doesn’t look in any way injured so a chirp seems the way to go. “Those things really are insured then, eh?” 

“Shut up!” Connor says, raising his head to complain just as Dylan matches his last pair. “Wait, that was a distraction!” He turns towards Elaine, finger pointing at Dylan. “Interference! He should have a penalty!” 

Elaine rolls her eyes. “There are no power plays in Snap. And we need to wrap things up so you’re just going to have to accept that Dylan is today’s champion.”

“Just today’s,” Connor says, way too darkly for someone who’s just lost a card game that Ryan’s eldest has outgrown. 

“Can’t believe you went whining to the refs, man. Didn’t you win the Lady Byng one year?” Dylan shakes his head as he pushes his chair neatly back under the table. “I thought you’d be more gracious in defeat.” 

Connor actually splutters. “You can’t talk about my sportsmanship when you were the one using dirty tricks to distract me.”

“Dirty tricks?!” Dylan pauses to thank everyone as they leave before really going in on this. “Dirty tricks?! I asked if your hand was okay! We need those things in good condition!” 

Connor shakes his head. “You just wanted to put me off my game.” Dylan really can’t tell if he’s joking or not.

“Please remind me to tell Cam that you’re never to be allowed to play games with Sam.” Dylan digs his phone out of his pocket. “I’m going to text Morgan right now and warn him for Bea’s sake.”

“I know that you’re meant to let little kids win,” Connor huffs.

“Yeah, but do you actually do it?” Dylan elbows him, ignoring his first impulse to hip check him. That seems much too close contact today.

“I do!” Connor tilts his head to the side and back to centre. “Most of the time.”

“Most of the time?! Oh my God!” Dylan drags his palms down his face.

“My cousin’s daughter is a very smart eight year old! I wasn’t going to patronise her!” Connor’s cheeks go red. “Anyway, she won in the end.”

“What game was it?” The blush has him intrigued. 

Connor presses the button for the elevator and they step inside. “Disney version of Monopoly.”

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re still putting hotels on all your properties way too early.” Connor always used this strategy when they would play it at his billet family’s game night. He also always lost.

“It’s a matter of risk and reward, Dylan!” Connor jabs at the button for the underground parking level. 

“Has it ever worked for you? Because it didn’t back then.” 

“I just needed to smooth out a few elements of the plan. I didn’t have it all together back then.” Connor’s face falls. He must realise what else that could refer to. The elevator feels even smaller now, almost suffocatingly so. They both shuffle their feet. “I’m sorry for bringing that up earlier. It shouldn’t have been on camera when we talked about that.”

“Yeah.” Dylan can’t think just now of having to share that moment with however many people are going to watch that video, it might swallow him up. The biggest moments of his life have either been completely out there in public or completely hidden in private. Parts of him laid bare for all to see and others kept locked away. He doesn’t want to add a conversation between him and Connor about their past to the list. 

He should accept the apology and move on, but he can’t quite let it go. “We said we wouldn't talk about it. Back at training camp.” The elevator doors open and he walks out, taking a look around. There’s no one else there. “I thought we decided to just leave it in the past.”

“No.” Connor shakes his head. “You said you didn’t want to talk about it. It wasn’t a never from me.” His eyes are darting around, he’s obviously uncomfortable, and Dylan thinks this is hard enough already so he opens his car and motions for Connor to join him inside 

Connor barely takes a breath after he closes the door. “Don’t you think it would be good to talk about it? That it might make things easier?”

Things might be better from a privacy perspective in his car, but in other ways it’s worse. Connor’s never been here before, the car is how he travels to and from playing with him, or spending time with him, he doesn’t join him here. “Are things hard now? I thought things were good?” He wishes he could remove the hint of disappointment there. He wants to be stronger than this, needs to be stronger than this.

“Things are good,” Connor rushes to say. “But maybe they could be better? If we didn’t have this whole part of our relationship that we just ignore.” 

“How?” They’re friends again now. It’s good. It’s not going to get better than that.

“I’d like to be able to talk to you about the stuff that happened in the years in between. I want to hear you talk about what it was like to win the OHL champs with the Otters, and what it was like when you first got called up to the Leafs.”

“Well, you broke up with me.” Dylan’s voice is louder, clearer, than it has been since they started talking about this. Than it has been all day maybe. “That’s the trade off. You broke up with me and you didn’t get to be around for all that. And I didn’t get to be around for your stuff either. That’s how it works.” And if it sounds like something his eighteen year old self would have said, well, maybe this is his chance to say it. 

“I wanted you to stop me!” Connor says, just as loud. Louder, even. 

Dylan tries to keep his voice calm. He’s not going to fight Connor about this now. “What do you mean stop you?” 

Connor places his hands on the dashboard in front of him, presses them right down. “I wanted you to talk me out of it when I said we should break up. I wanted you to tell me we could make it work, even if things got hard.” 

It’s like a gut punch after a bag skate. There’s no longer any attempt to keep his voice calm. “Then why break up with me? Why not just say you were scared? How was I meant to know that was what you wanted?” He can picture Connor leaning against the railing on Dylan’s parents’ porch, his hands in his pockets. “You sounded pretty fucking sure, Connor.”

“It was the logical thing to do. I thought I should be practical. But I wanted you to convince me not to be.” He takes his hand off the dashboard, folds them over his chest. “And yeah, that wasn’t fair. I get that now.” The fight has left his voice. “You were always the brave one. If you didn’t believe we’d make it then we weren’t going to.” 

Dylan doesn’t think he was brave back then. He’s certainly not brave now. “You were right. We were kids, and we were too far away, and we had to keep things secret. It wouldn’t have worked.” 

“I waited for your pick.” Dylan doesn’t need to be told this. The clearest image he has from the draft is one he’s only seen on video: Connor asking to watch the third pick, his head falling when Mitch’s name is the one called. “When I said earlier that I was jealous you got to play for the Leafs, that was true, but it wasn’t the whole truth. I was jealous that you got to play for our team, and that you got to stay in Toronto, yeah, but I think I was jealous of them too. That they got to have you. They got to have you and I was going to be stuck in Edmonton.” There’s a lot of bitterness in his voice.

“I was really jealous of the Oilers.” He doesn’t think he let himself imagine that Connor would be feeling something similar. “Taylor Hall and Draisaitl and Darnell Nurse and Nugent-Hopkins and… Eberle was there then too, yeah?”

Connor nods, looking at Dylan for the first time since they got into the car maybe. He looks vaguely pleased. “Leon said you were nice to him at the All Stars though.”

“That was two years ago, I hope I was at least a little bit more mature by then.” The corners of Dylan’s lips tip upwards, his smile feeling a little unused. They creep back down again soon. “I did mean what I said about how I could have kept in touch. You were out there in Edmonton alone and… I should have checked in.” It’s not that he hadn’t thought about it, but it had seemed too hard. He hadn’t thought Connor would have really wanted to hear from him.

“I had just broken up with you,” Connor reminds him.

“We were best friends first though. I should have been there for you as your friend.” 

Connor coughs out something like a sob and swipes his sleeve over his eye and, no, Dylan cannot handle this. He bites his lip and places a hand awkwardly on Connor’s shoulder. “I fucked it all up.”

“No, you did what you thought was best. We both messed things up. And maybe… I don’t know, maybe I could have picked up that you didn’t really want to break up.” He doesn’t think that’s all that possible though. Part of him had been waiting for Connor to break up with him since the night they kissed after Dylan had a five point game in Kitchener. 

“I feel like shit. Maybe you were right about how we shouldn’t talk about this.” Connor rubs his eyes, more vigorously now.

Dylan laughs, a broken kind of thing. “No, you were right. It’s… it’s better to have talked about it.” Perhaps. He’s not sure he can really think about the fact that Connor wasn’t all that keen on breaking up. It makes him feel like there’s an eighteen year old version of himself knocking on his heart. 

“I should let you go.” Connor moves to get out of the car.

“I could drive you home if you wanted?” He doesn’t know why he’s offering. He could do with some space. 

“No, no, my car’s here. I’ll, uh, see you tomorrow.”

At practice. “Yeah. Sure. See you then.” 

He watches Connor walk to his car and then starts his own. The drive back feels longer than usual and he can’t let himself think about all they talked about, can't let himself feel it just yet. 

When he gets home he lies face down on his bed. He still doesn’t feel ready for the emotions, but the tears come anyway.

*****

Things are mainly normal at practice the next day. Connor scores off a pass from Dylan so everything must be fine. They don’t talk to each other as much as usual, but it’s not in a Not Talking To Each Other way, they just nod when they see each other in the morning and there’s some kind of unspoken agreement with that to give each other some space. He doesn’t think he can act like normal teammates when Connor cried in his car yesterday about how he’d lit the match that ended their friendship. Not after that revelation about the breakup.

Dylan can tell he’s not managed to be so chill that Morgan hasn’t picked up on anything, which would have been a tall order, when his captain makes a beeline towards him following the end of the session, his face in that familiar concerned frown. Thankfully, Will sidles over and asks Dylan to work on one-timers with him after practice so he gets some breathing space until the dinner he gets invited to at the Virtue-Riellys’ since he can’t make lunch. 

Or at least that’s what it feels like for the first few minutes. They chat about tomorrow’s game with the Predators and catch up news of each other’s siblings while Will practises his shot. It’s when they switch to him feeding Dylan the puck that he says, “So, how are things with you and Connor?”

Surprisingly, the shot Dylan places in the net right after hearing this is pretty great. “I can’t believe you’re pulling out your assistant captain move. And that I didn’t realise it.” 

“Especially bad seeing as I stole this move from you,” Will smirks. It’s been Dylan’s go to since Erie, taking a guy aside and having a word with him when he’s busy enough doing something else that it doesn’t feel like an inquisition or talking to. “So, did he ask you out or something?”

That shot Dylan whiffs. “What the fuck?! What do you… Why would you say that?”

“The vibe,” Will says solemnly. “And that you two are written in the stars.” 

“Shut up!” Will cackles and is much too successful at dodging Dylan’s attempts to shove him and his stupid astrology references. Shit, is this why he’s been sending him Capricorn horoscopes along with the Pisces ones?

“No, but really, I know you and I know relationships and… There was a shift today.” Will lowers his tone to conspiratorial, even though there’s no one else here. “And I did hear that during your soon to be released bromantic Leaf to Leaf Connor confessed how things had been hard after the draft and then you said, and I quote, ‘we’re here now,  _ together _ ’.” Maybe Will is Elaine’s favourite then. He must be the favourite of someone who was there.

Dylan definitely had not said it like that. He feels like he’s having a flash forward to a phrase that’s going to be all over his Instagram comments. “It wasn’t… He didn’t ask me out. That’s not a thing that’s going to happen.” Will’s expression is placid, patient. Morgan is the only person that Dylan has told after the fact about him and Connor (and Tessa too, he guesses), but it seems like telling Will can’t hurt when he seems to already know. “It did though. When we were younger.”

Will nods. “I’d figured.” His eyebrows furrow, probably in response to Dylan’s own frown. “I don’t think anyone else has. I’ve just been around a long time I guess.”

Oh. “How long have you known?” 

“I’ve been quite sure since he came to Toronto, but I wondered for… since the first season you were called up, really.” Jesus. “You were different about him.” Will grins. “And you got really fucking wasted that night we played Edmonton.”

Dylan’s stomach churns automatically. “That was the night I told Mo about me and Connor.” He frowns. “I didn’t say anything earlier, did I?”

“No, it just seemed… noticeable, I guess. I don’t think anyone else picked up on it.” Will rolls his eyes. “You’d have needed to be a lot more obvious for that.”

That’s for sure. “One time Kyle Clifford accidentally saw Grindr on my phone and asked if it was a  _ workout _ app.”

Will blinks. “Dylan, he lived in L.A. for years, there is no way that man didn’t know what Grindr is.” Huh. He should send Kyle a text, probably. “It’s not obvious now, the you and Connor thing.” Will starts sending him pucks again.

“Just to someone as overly invested in my love life as you are?” Dylan chirps. “You and my mom should start a club.”

“Oh buddy, you think we haven’t already?” Will laughs, then gets more serious. “I feel like I owe you, I guess. I was kind of a dick at the start.” 

“No, you weren’t.” He really wasn’t. A little awkward maybe, but nothing approaching being a dick.

“I could have done more.” Will makes a steeple with his fingers. “I’ll just make up for it by making sure you find long and lasting love.” 

Dylan puts the last puck in the net. He musters up a smile. “I don’t think Connor is the one to back.” He goes to collect the pucks, Will following along.

“Because of how things ended the first time?”

“Maybe partly that.” Some of those reasons still stand, they’re hockey players in the NHL even if things might be just a little better. “But… I don’t know. I don’t see it happening.” Doesn’t think he could let himself imagine it, feels too much like a kid too close to a candle.

Will puts an arm around his shoulder. “Guess I’ll spread my net a bit wider then, eh? Are you going to be okay with it all this weekend?”

“At the Preds game? It will be fine.” They’ve played well together all season, they’re not going to let one conversation change that.

“I meant at the family skate.” Will taps his hand on Dylan’s shoulder. 

He’d forgotten about the family skate. “Yeah, that will be fine too.”

It’s what he repeats on the way there with his parents. Really, it’s not even the fact that Connor will be there that makes this event bittersweet. It gets more so every year as his teammates bring girlfriends and wives and kids and he brings his parents, year after year. Nick is even taking someone this year. He thought about taking Elliott last year, but there are usually cameras and people he doesn’t know floating about. Maybe if they’d still been together he would have been ready for that leap, but they’re not. So it’s him and his parents.

It’s not that it’s a hardship to bring them though. They still get excited about skating at what they will probably always call the ACC and catching up with the other players’ families away from a game. He’s wondered how often his parents speak to the McDavids now, they haven’t brought it up and he’s never asked. They’d gotten along so well back then, their moms waving to each other across the room at the draft captured forever, leading to video clips Dylan was asked about for much longer than he wanted to be. 

Naturally, the McDavids are the first people they see once they get out onto the ice. It’s pretty clear from the way his mom darts over to them that they’ve been spending some time together, which isn’t something he wants to think too hard about. He hears about how Cam and his family can’t make it as they’re home with flu and how (no offence to the Oilers, of course) this is a much better setup for a family event. Kelly and Brian are great, but it’s still a little strange seeing them here, and when Tessa waves him over to where she and Morgan are getting ready to take Bea on the ice he takes the out.

He throws an arm around Tessa who’s just finished filming Morgan adjusting Bea’s helmet. “How many people have chirped you for bringing a ringer to family skate this year, Mo?” 

Morgan laughs. “I think you’re actually the first to bring it up.”

“The novelty must finally have worn off,” Tessa says. 

Bea almost overbalances in her excitement to get over to him so Dylan crouches down to give her a hug. “You going skating today, B?” She responds with a lot of words and sounds, but “skating” is the only one Dylan can confidently make out. He’d usually try to make more of an effort to get more of the words, but she clearly wants to get going with the skating so he grins and gets back up. 

Tessa asks him to film them so he looks behind for traffic and then carefully makes his way back, trying his best to angle the phone so that he can capture all three - Bea in between with Tessa and Morgan holding her hand on either side. It’s only after Morgan and Bea have gone to hang out with the Hymans and he and Tessa are skating around arm in arm that he notices the social media guys are out in force. “You could have got a real pro to film that, Tess.”

“I think you did a pretty good job.” She pats his elbow. “Should we practise your figure skating skills?” 

Tessa has been trying to teach him turns for years. It has not gone particularly well. “Connor might actually be good at that you know,” he hedges.

“I mean, he is a good skater, but he’s still a hockey player,” Tessa says plainly while Dylan chokes. “He’ll need time. And you’re my protegé, we need to get you ready for that  _ Battle of the Blades _ appearance after you retire.” 

Tessa tends to be able to make what she wants to happen happen, so Dylan finds himself dutifully working on three-turns and having the difference between that and a bracket explained to him, again. It’s not until Nick comes over with his girlfriend, Clara, whom Tessa hasn’t met yet that Dylan can escape to go play mini sticks with the kids. 

Zach looks very grateful when Dylan takes his spot, and it doesn't take long to figure out why. The sugar consumption has obviously been high. Dylan needs reinforcements, desperately, and he doesn’t even hesitate to call Connor over when he sees him looking their way. It’s quickly decided by the kids that the two adults should play together, with the clear consensus seeming to be that five under sevens can easily defeat two NHL players. 

While the little ones huddle for their team talk, Dylan nudges Connor. “Remember that we let the kids win?” 

“Shut up!” Connor says, a little too loudly judging by some of the looks from said kids. “I mean, please be quiet.” 

Dylan snorts. “Great job.” 

“How did you get so good with kids?” Connor asks.

It takes a second for Dylan to realise it’s a serious question. It’s not like he’s all that good with them. “Uh, I don’t know? I get a lot of practice when Ryan and Sydney and the girls are home during the offseason.” He’s never been put on the spot about it before. “Just try and listen and let them lead, I guess?” It hadn’t taken him long to learn that a schedule of activities wasn’t going to fly.

“Would you like some of your own?” Connor asks, tracing something on the ice with this blade.

“Yeah. I mean, right person, right time.” Dylan flicks his ministick to one hand and then the other, faster and faster. “You?”

“Same as that. I, uh… That’s part of why things didn’t work out in the past, I think. I couldn’t, you know, see it.” 

Thankfully, before Dylan has to think about any of that, the kids call Will over and demand that he play on their team and that they start playing right now. He’s a little offended that he isn’t cool enough to play with them, but his Christmas sweater doesn’t light up like Will’s does, so he kind of gets it. 

It’s fun when they do start, though Dylan thinks he and Connor should probably have worked on strategy rather than talking about hypothetical children. The real ones in front of them are really good at mini sticks, even without Will on their side. All he’s really doing is making up individual dance routines for each of them after they score. Even with the fact that the kids are legitimately good Connor still reins in his competitiveness enough so that Dylan doesn’t have to call him out on it. He probably should when he checks Will, but he’s a fully grown adult. 

The game only ends when the food is served and they all go up to one of the executive suites. Dylan rejoins his family, whom Nick is introducing to Clara as his Canadian parents. Clara is explaining her art history postgrad to them, and getting flustered saying she knows it’s not the busiest job market, when his mom reminds her that none of her kids went to college.

“It’s very impressive that you’ve gone so far. Though Dylan here has done some classes!” She pats his arm and he knows from the look on her face that she’s about two seconds from asking if Clara has any eligible bachelor friends, as if Nick and Will haven’t been all over that already. 

He extricates himself to go be a good assistant captain for the rookies and advise on just how much to spend on their last minute holiday gifts. As he’s trying to present the case that ELCs probably aren’t the best fund for the most expensive car available, he notices that Morgan is standing off by himself, leaning against the railings at the viewing point and watching the party. It’s unusual for him, so Dylan agrees to be the voice of reason during some dealership visits and then makes his way over.

“Hey, you doing okay?” Mo nods, but his eyes aren’t selling the positive response. “A little overwhelming?” It is pretty loud, especially now the kids have had yet more sugar. 

“Lots of babies,” Morgan says, which Dylan guesses is true, but no more than other years, maybe even fewer. 

Dylan speaks without really thinking this direction of conversation through, “You like babies.”

“Yeah. I do.” Morgan turns around to face out towards the ice and Dylan copies him, leaning his arms against the railings.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He’s not really sure this is the place for whatever this conversation is going to be, but he can’t not ask.

Morgan sighs. “I know people are just being nice. But they don’t always think things through.” Dylan hums in agreement. “People were asking when we’re going to have another baby and… we’re trying. It’s just… not happening yet.”

“It can take a while,” Dylan says, and regrets it immediately. Morgan obviously knows this, he doesn’t need to hear it from his single friend. 

“Yeah. We’ve been, you know, serious about it since April.” He keeps going on, seeming ready to talk about it now, if not comfortable about it. “And Tess is getting stressed about it, and then I’m getting stressed about her getting stressed and… it’s tough.”

“It is.” Dylan doesn’t know what to say, knows that no words can make it better, but still feels like he should be able to say something at least. Fuck, Morgan’s been carrying this around for a while now and he hadn’t even noticed. Had probably picked up that something wasn’t quite right, but he hadn’t asked him about it, had been too caught up in his own shit. He’s been talking about Connor to him and Tessa like he’s still a kid, like he still needs someone to mop up his emotional mess. And now he’s still thinking about himself, not about them. 

He puts a hand on Morgan’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I know that doesn’t make anything better, but I am. You two… I want to be here for whatever you need. Whatever that is. I love you guys.”

“We love you too. And thanks.” Morgan shakes his head. “I’m sorry if I’ve been a bit off.”

“You haven’t.” Or not so that it would be noticeable to anyone else other than Dylan and maybe Will. “But it’s okay if you were, this is a big thing.” Dylan bites his lip, hopes that was an okay thing to say. 

“I think if I just knew it wasn’t going to happen that would be okay, I could deal with that. It’s the waiting that hurts.” 

“It’s nothing comparable to this but, yeah, the waiting is the worst.” Dylan doesn’t know this kind of pain, but he knows waiting for the next part of his life to begin. Knows it especially at events like this. 

Morgan brings out the calm captain voice. “We’ll get there, to whatever it is.” 

Dylan hopes it comes soon for his friends. 

*****

Dylan’s New Year’s Day nap on the plane home from Tampa is interrupted by someone lifting the legs he’s spread out on Nick’s seat. Presuming that it’s Nick having returned from the card table he places his legs back on his lap. “You lose already?”

“Um, no?” He opens his eyes once he hears Connor’s voice, thinks about removing his legs but Connor has already laid his hands on them and he’d sit like this with any of the other guys he’s close with. Dylan doesn’t want to make this weird.

“I thought you were Nick interrupting my nap.” 

“Your nap needed to be interrupted. You’ve been asleep longer than an hour and you get cranky if you sleep that long in the middle of the day.” Connor taps his fingers on Dylan’s legs, probably trying to wake him up further.

“I’m not a toddler,” Dylan grouses, becoming aware that he definitely sounds like one. 

Connor just raises his eyebrows. “So, it’s my birthday soon.” 

“And you’re going to be old.” Dylan should really start thinking about presents.

“Barely two months older than you.” He keeps going despite Dylan muttering, “Still older.” “What are the chances I won’t be dragged out to a club?”

Dylan snorts. “Well, as the team’s resident stats guy I can tell you that they’re close to zero.” He tries to remember the schedule. “Aren’t we playing the Habs that night? At home?” 

“Yeah.” Connor pauses his tapping, resting his hands now. “Couldn't we do a nice, quiet team dinner instead? That’s what I’m doing with my family the weekend before.” 

“We definitely could.” Dylan thinks it’s something that probably should have been organised well before now, but realistically getting a restaurant to host Connor McDavid’s 30th won’t be hard. “The younger guys are still going to try and drag you out though.” Probably some of the older ones too. 

“Maybe if you talked to them? They listen to you.” 

“Hey, they listen to you too,” Dylan reminds him. Connor’s grown a lot as a leader since their Erie days.

“Yeah, but if I say it they’ll think I just don’t want them to go to any trouble or something. If it comes from you they’ll believe it.” There is a certain logic to that.

“Do you really not want to go out at all?” Dylan needs to know what the bargaining agreement will be here. 

“I wouldn’t mind somewhere low-key like that Bellezza place in Yorkville.” It’s a newer place, closer to a live music place than a club. “Their food was pretty good too.” Connor seems to be brightening up a bit. 

“Okay, so how about we go there and then if they want the young ones can go off to wherever the cool kids go after?” That seems doable on short notice.

“Yeah, that sounds good, thanks.” Connor smiles at him, warm and real. “Have you made any plans for your birthday?”

“My mom took the reins on that. She booked out the basement at Terroni months ago. It’s going to be the Saturday night because we’re playing the Ducks so Ryan will be in town.” The timing is as good as it could get. 

“That’s perfect.” Connor taps his fingers again. “I should have let my mom plan mine when she offered. I thought I was more organised than this.”

“I probably should have done it myself, but I let Kappy and Willy plan my 21st and I think she revoked any of my rights to be involved with planning significant birthdays at that point.” An unarguable decision.

“Oh Dylan.” Connor’s face is sympathetic, with an undercurrent of barely being able to stop himself from laughing. “Are there any photos of this?”

“None that I will ever show you willingly.” He wonders what he’d need to do to get Will to agree to never show any of the evidence either. “It was a mess. And not just from a Kappy and Willy planned it perspective…” He rubs his eyes. “I was only out to Mo and Gards at that point, and I was drunk, and I kissed, like, a bunch of girls because that seemed like a good idea.” He’d been miserable after, went home to sleep in his childhood bedroom.

Connor squeezes his hands around Dylan’s legs. “I’m sorry. That sounds like a shitty night.” 

“Yeah. But this one will be good.” Dylan reaches into the pocket of the seat in front of him and fishes out his phone. “I’ll look up Bellezza and start getting this organised.” 

“You don’t need to do that,” Connor rushes. “I can take care of it.”

“No, let me.” Dylan very pointedly ignores the looks they’re getting from Will as he walks down the aisle. “It can be your present.”

That’s not his only present, obviously. He gets Connor silver cufflinks with his initials engraved in minute lettering. They’re from the jewellers that Ryan got the cufflinks for the wedding party from which his older brother makes an unnecessarily big deal of. They were nice cufflinks. 

On the night of the party, a while after Mo dips home (earlier than Dylan had expected), Connor leans hard on Dylan’s shoulder and reaches behind him to where they’ve piled the presents. “I want to open yours,” he says, still pinned in close beside him when he sits back down properly. 

Dylan had never known Connor as a small kid, but the smile on his face and the way he’s buzzing in place reminds him of pictures he’s seen. For someone who hadn’t wanted to go out he certainly seems to be enjoying himself. A birthday hat trick will do that, he guesses. 

Despite all the excitement, Connor is careful in how he peels open the wrapping paper and then as he opens the box. “Dylan,” he says when he sees them, his hushed voice a counterpoint to the music overhead and the noise from the guys at their table. Dylan can’t look at them right now, just looks at Connor. “I love them.” 

“I, uh, thought they’d look good with your suits. Might even be lucky.” 

Connor grabs at the cufflinks he’s wearing, starts pulling at them. “I’ll put them in right now.”

Dylan laughs, putting his hands out to still Connor’s. “They can wait.” 

“No.” Connor shakes his head, and Dylan knows that tone, knows that determination. There’s no changing his mind. 

“Let me try then.” For once his coordination is looking a lot more reliable. Getting the old set out doesn’t take too long, but it’s hard to secure the new pair in the low light. He leans in closer and closer until his breath causes a fog on the shiny metal. It’s warm in the bar, warmer again when he’s this close to Connor, his fingers grazing his hot skin as he fiddles with the cufflinks. Dylan is warm all over, his shirt getting clingy, the smell of Connor’s cologne clinging too. He wears a fancy one now, not like the one he wore in juniors that Dylan can’t name but can still recognise from a couple feet away. 

His head is getting hazy, and he can’t have that, not around Connor. Can’t start thinking about how things were or how they could be. They are no longer and they won’t be. The second of the set clicks satisfyingly into place and Dylan pushes his whole body back. 

“I’m going to get some water, you want some too?” Connor starts to get up and Dylan lays a hand on his arm, guides him back down. “You stay here. Relax, it’s your birthday.” 

Connor opens his mouth, then shuts it and nods. 

The venue is busy and Dylan gets jostled a lot more than he’d like while moving away from their booth towards the bar, especially when what he’d really like is some space to breathe. When a hand is placed on his arm he’s ready to shrug it off before a familiar voice says his name. 

“Elliott!” He goes to hug him before wondering if that’s really the right move, but Elliott returns the embrace. “How are you?”

He looks good, dark hair a little longer and shirt a little more unbuttoned than Dylan is used to. There’s a memory of desire there, an echo of what he used to feel. It’s not anything like what being close to Connor had felt like and there’s both good and bad to that. Dylan’s had too much to drink to balance it out though. 

“Good, a bit busier at work now that December’s over. And you? You’ve been playing well.” Elliott laughs when Dylan raises his eyebrows, and Dylan’s sort of sad he can’t hear it properly.

He puts a hand on his hip. “Did I manage to turn you into a Leafs fan?” 

“You can take the boy out of Calgary but…” Elliott grins, shaking his head. “You here with the guys?”

“Yeah, it’s Connor’s birthday.” Dylan turns around, his face heating when he sees that the entirety of the group is looking at this conversation, Nick and Rasmus leaning over the back of the booth. “That’s, uh, them there.” Will tries to pull them back a little but they’re too busy returning Elliott’s wave. “They really liked you,” he adds, probably unnecessarily.

“I liked them too.” Elliott smiles, but not his full one. “How are your parents?”

Dylan fills him in, and then listens as Elliott tells him about how his mom is caught up in the latest drama at her church choir. He’s not expecting Connor’s arm heavy around his shoulder and his voice in his ear. “I thought you were going to get water.”

Connor sounds like he could do with some, the smell of the IPA he was drinking stronger now too. “I met Elliott, you’ve heard me talk about him before.” Dylan is sure he heard the rest of the guys talking about him back at the booth too.

“I’m Connor McDavid.” He introduces himself and takes Elliott’s hand in a firm grip.

Elliott is trying not to laugh. “I know you are. I should probably take the chance to apologise for all the stuff I said to the screen at the Battles of Alberta these past few years.”

Connor drops his hand and turns to Dylan. “You dated a  _ Flames  _ fan?” Even though it’s loud around them, Dylan is glad Connor’s horror has him dropping his voice to a low hiss. 

“We don’t hold that against people so much here, bud.” 

“Well, you should,” Connor mutters, his arm still tight around Dylan as he turns back towards Elliott. “Are you having a good time tonight? Here with anyone special?”

Dylan doesn't miss the look Elliott sends him. All he officially knows about Dylan and Connor’s relationship is that they were best friends and Connor was the first person he came out to, but Dylan had suspected he knew there was something more there. “I was just leaving actually, my friends had headed out but I saw Dylan and wanted to say hi.”

“We wouldn’t want to keep you.” Connor’s tone is just a bit too earnestly polite for Dylan to believe him. It’s like he’s trying too hard. 

Will appears beside them and it’s getting a little too surreal for Dylan’s taste. “Elliott! Always a pleasure to see you! Connor has come over and said hi I see.” 

Nick arrives in his wake, elbowing Will. “If you get to come over I should too.” Will sends Dylan his best apologetic eyebrows. Nick hugs Elliott. “How are you? And Abbie, I’ve missed her.”

Dylan misses Abbie too. Connor freezes. “You have a child?!” he asks, sounding bizarrely despondent. 

Elliott just seems amused. “Abbie is my dog.”

“Oh, cool.” Connor slouches into Dylan’s side. “I have a dog too.” Dylan blinks in an effort to ascertain if this really is happening. 

“Okay!” Will places a hand on Connor’s other shoulder. “I think it’s time we got you home.”

Connor holds on tighter. “Dylan can take me home. He used to do it all the time.” All it takes is one look at the frown on Nick’s face for Dylan to know that he’s not alone in hearing the slither of something not unlike possessiveness in Connor’s voice. Maybe that’s what causes Connor to backtrack a little. “When we were in juniors together.” 

“Well, it’s been great seeing all of you, but I really should be going.” Elliott smiles, waves to the rest before placing his hand on Dylan’s arm. “Call me when you finally get around to buying that house. I’m not having anyone else get that NHL player commission.”

“Of course.” He probably should get serious about getting a house rather than just waiting on the right guy to share one with.

After Elliott leaves Connor looks ready to say something and Dylan thinks both he and Nick are grateful when Will intervenes. “It really is time to get you home, Davo. You’re old now, it’s past your bedtime.” Will shakes his head when Connor protests. “I live closer to you than Dylan does.”

Connor sighs, then hugs Dylan like they’re about to be parted for weeks. “I’ll see you at practice on Friday, okay?”

That seems to be enough to get him to go, but then he turns back. “What about the presents? Should I go and get them?”

Will claps him on the back. “Rasmus is sorting that out for you. No need to worry.”

“He’s a good kid,” Connor says. “They’re all good kids.” He looks at Dylan like he’s responsible for raising them and then flings his arms around him again. 

Dylan rubs his back. “You get some rest. We need you ready to go.” Connor mutters something completely incomprehensible into Dylan’s shirt and then goes, Will occasionally dragging him along.

Dylan takes a breath, exhales just as Nick shoulders him. “We’re going back to yours to talk about that.” Dylan just nods.

Nick is quiet in the Uber as Dylan talks to their driver about the Raptors, and quiet still as the elevator inches up towards Dylan’s apartment. It’s only when they’re in the door that he says, “So, you and Connor.” 

There’s a delay of the inevitable as Dylan hangs up his coat and takes off his shoes, then goes to grab them drinks and snacks. Nick catches the chips from his seat on the couch and Dylan carries over the water and beers. He’s sobering up now and he thinks a little protective buzz might make this conversation somewhat easier. “Me and Connor,” he repeats as he sits down. 

Nick raises his eyebrows, waiting, and Dylan curls his feet under him and starts from the beginning. There’s something nice about telling the story like this, in a way he’s never really had the chance to before. He can think back on the way Connor had hugged him after he came out, how a few weeks later Connor kissed him and said he hadn’t thought that was a possibility until Dylan told him he was gay. He can remember all those firsts that spring and summer - Connor’s usually confident hands shaking, unsure then sure as he learned Dylan’s body and as Dylan learned his, how it felt to come apart with someone else, sticky and sweaty on a simmering afternoon. The lasts the following summer aren’t so clear, he doesn’t know when they last kissed, can’t recall how it felt the last time Connor’s hands or mouth were on him, the last time they ever fucked. He wonders if Connor does, he hopes it was good. 

“Who knows?” Nick asks after he’s done telling him about his conversation with Connor about the breakup before the holidays.

“Our families, Morgan and Tess, Brinksy, Will figured it out recently, or knew for sure then maybe.” He pulls at the sleeve of his shirt. “I don’t know if Connor ever told anyone about it, after.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Dylan could handle anger better than the hurt in Nick’s voice. He could talk him down, he shouldn’t have put his friend in a position where he had to be built up.

“I don’t think I ever meant to tell anyone. With Morgan I was blackout drunk, and then Will had put it together. It’s… it was never just about me.” He clears his throat. “I trust you. I’d trust you with anything. But this wasn’t only mine. This was Connor.” He lifts up his glass of water from the table in front of them, the condensation cool against his hand. He tries to concentrate on that “I don’t even know if he’s bi or whatever. It might have been, I don’t know, how close we were back then. It was intense.” 

“Dylan.” Nick is giving him this weirdly stern look that he must have copied from Keefe or someone. “I know it’s not good to speculate about, like, labels and stuff, but Connor did not look like someone who was uninterested in you tonight.”

Here in his apartment, with someone else saying it, Dylan can admit that’s probably true. Connor hadn’t seemed uninterested when he interrupted his conversation with Elliott, or when he pressed tight against him in the booth. He just can’t fathom what he’s meant to do with that.

“Is Connor a part of why you haven’t come out?” Nick picks at the label on his bottle. “Not that you have to, but… You’ve talked about it before.”

The simple answer would be yes. Connor’s name comes up in big, bold letters whenever Dylan thinks about a timeframe, whenever the guilt about not coming out right after that kid in Seattle did rears its head (he’d been jealous of him too. Of how he could be that brave, that open). “It’s part of it, yeah. It’s not just him though. People would say stuff about you, about Morgan, Brinksy, anyone I’ve been close to. I don’t… I don’t want to make life hard for all of you.” 

“I don’t care. People say stuff about me all the time.” Nick sounds so sure. 

“This would be different.” Things have gotten better some, but Dylan still hears things that make his stomach drop from certain players, certain teams. 

“Being half-Filipino and playing hockey hasn’t always been a walk in the park.” Nick cuts him off before he can apologise. “Is it different because it wouldn’t be true?” 

“Yeah. You shouldn’t have to put up this too.”

“People say shit that isn’t true all the time. What would be so bad about this?” Nick strums his fingers against his legs. “You… you believe there’s nothing wrong with being gay and playing hockey, don’t you?”

“Of course I believe that!” Dylan couldn’t have got this far if he didn’t, out or not. “If I come out I’m the story, and I’m the target, and it becomes about protecting me, it distracts from winning. I don’t want to risk our chances. I don’t want to let the team down.”

Nick shrugs. “Then wait until after you retire.” 

Dylan knows he’s being provoked, reacts anyway. “I don’t want to wait that long. I want to come out when I’m playing, when I’m still playing well. I want to, I don’t know, take the Cup to Pride.” He wants all the kids like him, and the ones who aren’t, to see him succeed. If he said it out loud he’d choke from the corniness, but even if he’s never been exactly an active member of the community, they’re some sort of team too. 

Nick is grinning. “That would be sick.”

“I want to hold hands with my boyfriend outside where people can see. I want to move into a big house with a man I love and have people know we’re together, not think we’re fucking roommates or something. I want to, like, post engagement photos on Instagram and stories of my kid walking and all the other stuff that other guys don’t have to think twice about.” He shuts his eyes, chasing away the images of who he wishes could be that man for him. But he trusts Nick, trusts that he’ll stick around no matter what he says. Dylan sucks in a breath. “And I don’t know how Connor can fit into that.”

“Oh.” Nick frowns. “Would he not be okay with you coming out?”

“I think he would.” He’s never said that Dylan shouldn’t, hasn’t said anything to even suggest that. “But if he is interested, and if things could maybe… work out somehow,” it hurts to say it, like he’s waving a red flag in front of fate, “I don’t know how that fits. He’s Connor McDavid. How does Connor McDavid be Connor McDavid and have a gay boyfriend? That’s so much pressure, so much attention.” He clenches his fists. “ I don’t want to come out right now, I’m not ready, but I will be one day. I wouldn’t need people to know we were together, not when we were playing, if that’s even possible, but eventually… if things were serious…” Dylan barks a laugh that quickly turns to tears. “I’m just really fucking tired of having relationships in secret. I can’t do that forever. I won’t.”

Nick’s arms are tight around him, his head on Dylan’s chest. “And you shouldn’t have to. You should never have had to.” Nick squeezes tighter. “I’m so proud of you. For saying what you want, and wanting to come out, and… for all the things you’ve already done. You’re never going to let the team down. You… we wouldn’t be our team without you.” 

He’s told Dylan that before, after he got his A, before the Stanley Cup finals. Nick has always been such a good friend to him. “I’m sorry I never told you. I should have.”

“It’s okay. You had a pretty good reason.” Nick huffs. “I’m just mad you confirmed it to Willy first. Just because he’s nosy and European.” 

Dylan’s laughter feels way too loud. “What does him being European have to do with anything?”

“It just does,” Nick insists. He’s laughing too, but then gets serious. “About Connor though. You know…”

“I got carried away,” Dylan interrupts, his cheeks going red. “He could have just been drunk. Or… even if we did try something, it could end as soon as it began. And we’re teammates, in the NHL this time, it would probably be a bad idea.”

“Hey, I’m trying to talk you out of talking yourself out of the possibility. You’re not helping.” Nick pinches his arm and Dylan, embarrassingly, yelps. “You can’t just shut down the whole idea before it even starts. Or decide how Connor is going to act in some hypothetical situation that could be years down the line.”

“I know.” He pokes Nick’s arm. “You can tell you’re dating a postgrad, using big words like hypothetical.”

“Fuck off, you just think you’re smart because of your word a day app.” It’s a great app. “Actually, Clara has a paper due and probably doesn’t want me coming in this late, can I crash here?”

“Sure.” His heart twists at the thought of having someone to come to, but he’s had enough of being maudlin tonight. “Where did the chips go?” 

Nick bolts up. “Oh my God, we never even opened them.” He rescues them from the side of the couch and tears the bag open. 

“Thanks for being here,” Dylan says, after he’s inhaled some handfuls he may regret tomorrow.

“Any time.” Nick reaches forward for the controllers. “Video games?”

Killing zombies feels like a pretty good way to end the night. He’s had enough thinking for now.

*****

Connor keeps apologising for how drunk he got the night of his birthday. Dylan keeps telling him that it’s fine. And it is, of course, but maybe there’s a part of Dylan that might have wanted it to mean more than that. 

Connor brings it up again on their flight to Nashville for the All-Star Game, once they’re seated following the impromptu signing and selfie session before they boarded. After the flight attendant comes around with drinks and they’ve opened their beers, Connor leans over into Dylan’s first-class pod and whispers, “I’m not going to drink too much this weekend.”

“Connor, it was your thirtieth birthday, it happens.” Dylan had put Ryan into bed around eleven on the night of his as, despite all his protests, his body could no longer handle vodka shots. 

He’s looking down at the ground. “I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything.”

It could be takeoff causing the ringing in his ears, but Dylan’s not so sure. “I wasn’t uncomfortable.”

“No?” Connor’s sitting properly in his seat now, so Dylan can’t see him. It might be for the best.

“No.” Dylan’s heartbeat is racing but his head is trying to slow it all down. This is a work trip. Connor is his teammate and they aren’t seventeen anymore, there’s no point getting carried away. “The reason you have to take it easy is so we win the game, and you win your shooting accuracy challenge.” 

“They used to make me do fastest skater all the time. I really must be getting old.” 

“Ancient.” Dylan kicks the back of Connor’s seat, laughs when he hears him swear softly.

“Hey, how about you do fastest skater?” It only takes a second for Connor to crack and join in with the laughter.

“Barb Underhill works magic, not miracles. I’ll stick to passing, thank you.” He’s not really sure that any aspect of his game is set up for a skills showcase on this scale, it’s more that they just seem to click together. But he’ll do his best. 

“You’ve put in the work too,” Connor says. Dylan thinks he prefers how he used to chirp him for being slow. That he knew how to handle. 

“I guess.” Dylan moves about to try and get comfortable. “Would you really like to do something else?” 

“I did like fastest skater, I definitely liked winning it, but it might be nice to do something different for a change.” He sighs. “It would be nice to have a full week off without being injured though.”

“The break is good.” Dylan had been excited to be invited this time though, it had felt earned, not as someone to make up numbers like last time. 

“I don’t like that I can’t see you,” Connor complains, twisting around so that his head is looking over his shoulder. It doesn’t seem the most comfortable of positions.

“Guess I was wrong in thinking you’d be using this weekend to take a break from me.” It’s clearly a chirp but Dylan is pretty confident there’s a frown on Connor’s face, even if he can’t see it.

“Maybe we could sit in those free seats in the middle instead, the screen between them is moveable, I think.” 

Connor looks very pleased with himself when his plan works out. He’d even asked the flight attendants if they could move, out of politeness or because he was worried they were going to throw the plane off balance Dylan’s not sure. “This is much better,” he announces once they’ve sat down.

“Fancier than a bus around Ontario.” Dylan had loved those bus trips though.

Connor smiles, one of his shyer ones. “Did you ever think about it, back then? Us going to the All Stars?”

Dylan thought about a lot of things back then, some more realistic than others. Funny that them being on the same team and going to the All Stars together was probably one of the more unrealistic ideas, and now it’s happening. “Yeah. I did.” 

“Me too.” The smile he gives Dylan now is one he could get lost in if he wasn’t careful.

“Hey, should we take our Elaine mandated photograph?” They have members of the social media team with them, but Elaine had wanted candids too. 

“Sure.”

Connor messes with his hair while Dylan pulls out his phone, and he does it for long enough that Dylan manages to snap a photo. “Lost cause, bud, lost cause.” 

It’s a good selfie when he manages to take it after Connor stops hitting his arm. Connor says, “Otters forever,” after he approves it and it takes Dylan a couple of seconds to realise that’s a caption suggestion rather than just a statement.

“That’s good. Or Erie Otter All Stars?” 

There’s a longer pause than he expected before Connor agrees, but he seems to really like it once he does. The likes come thick and fast once he posts and Dylan puts away his phone after Will sends a DM consisting solely of a long string of heart eyes emojis.

The throwback Thursday theme continues when they arrive at their hotel and see Mitch in the lobby. He holds his arms out wide and yells, “My boys!” before running over to hug them. 

“Are you the welcome committee, Marns?” Connor asks, his voice muffled by Mitch’s shoulder. 

“Absolutely. Here to welcome my Toronto boys to warmer weather.” He’s showing no sign of letting them go.

“What would you know about warm weather? What even is the weather in Denver other than unpredictable?” 

Mitch ignores Dylan’s (valid) questions. “We’re all finally here, top Canadian picks in the 2015 draft.” He somehow squeezes them tighter. “We could grab Eichel and get a photo of the top four picks.”

“Or not,” Connor grumbles. 

Dylan laughs. “It’s been over ten years. No one was ever getting picked ahead of you.” 

“We know that now,” Connor says, like it hadn’t all but been decided when he was granted exceptional player status and then lived up to that and more. 

“Do you guys want to come to dinner?” Mitch asks. “I'm meeting up with Cale and some other guys from Central now, you could join after you get set up in your rooms?” 

Dylan would definitely prefer to remove the airplane and airport smell from his body before that. “I don’t know if we should be fraternising with the enemy before our important game.”

Connor speaks almost at the same time. “If you’re going to meet them now, how about we catch up with you later?”

“Cool.” Mitch looks them up and down. “It would be better if you two got changed. I don’t know if I want to be seen out with you.” 

Mitch is wearing what looks like a fancy tracksuit, athleisure or whatever that shit is called. “Sure, bud, we’ll try and get on your level. See you later.” 

While they’re waiting for their room keys at reception, Connor asks, “What kind of place in Nashville has that as their dress code?”

Dylan laughs. “Guess we might find out later.” They thank the receptionist and head towards the elevators. “I do want to change though.”

“Sure. Can’t have Marns showing us up.” Connor pulls out his phone and checks the time. “We could get food after we change and meet up with them after?”

“Sounds good. Anyone else you’ve arranged to meet up with?”

The elevator delivers them to the fourth floor where they’re both staying. “Just Drai, but nothing set in stone.”

They’re wheeling their cases down the hall when a door opens and out walks Travis Konecny. “Davo! Stromer!” He opens his arms and grins, giving hugs to both of them as Nolan Patrick slopes out behind him.

Nolan mumbles his greetings and nods at Connor, pulling Dylan in for a hug. 

TK jerks his head towards Nolan, delighted. “Look at this guy, gets a ring and will only give attention to other Cup winners. I’m sorry, Davo, no love from Patty for you.”

“I don’t know McDavid, Stromer was at my first All-Star weekend when you abandoned me.” Dodging their draft bust labels had made for a fast friendship, but Dylan hadn’t expected to keep in such close contact after. Nolan is usually inscrutable while Dylan has been crying on national television since his World Junior days. 

TK rocks back on his heels, sticking his thumbs through his belt loops. “I’m sorry my scoring slump interfered with your plans, bud. You were the worst off with that, I’m sure.” 

Nolan rolls his eyes. “It’s good to see you both, or whatever. You want to come to dinner with us, Hartsy and Hischier? We’re meeting them in like an hour.”

Dylan checks in with Connor, who nods. “Sure, I think we’re meeting up with Marner later, you two should come.” He grins at TK. “OHL reunion.” 

“I was drafted before Stromer and Marns in the OHL draft, you know Patso. Number one, baby.” TK doesn't actually hold up a finger, but Dylan is going to presume that it’s a near thing. “Davo went the year before because he didn’t want to be put behind me.” 

“Yeah, that’s definitely how that works.” Nolan puts an arm around TK’s shoulder and starts to guide him down the hall. “We’ll see you boys later.”

Dylan checks his room number again and continues walking. “We should be nearly there. Are you 431? That should be across from mine, I think.”

Connor is quiet until they reach their rooms. “It’s okay if you want to do stuff on your own,” he says, leaning his back against his door. The hat he wore around the airport is in his hands and his fingers are tracing the brim.

“Do you want to do something else this evening?” Dylan asks. 

“No,” Connor says quickly, hands tightening around the hat. “Just, if you wanted to catch up with your friends this weekend rather than spend time with me, that would be okay. I’d get it.” 

“Is that what you want?” Dylan keeps his voice soft, pretty sure he already knows the answer.

“No! I just… You see me all the time, you might want to spend more time with people you don’t see so much.” 

“Doesn’t mean I want to see any less of you, Davo. You’re my friend too.” He smiles, waiting for Connor to look up at him

He does, eventually, and then stuffs his cap over his hair. Why, when he’s heading into his hotel room, Dylan can’t guess. “Cool. I’ll text you when I’m ready?”

“Sure. See you then.” 

It’s only once he’s closed the door to his room that Dylan thinks about how before the season started he’d wondered how he’d be able to cope with so much time spent with Connor. Now he can’t imagine it any other way.

The events go by quickly. Connor wins the accuracy competition over this rookie Vegas Golden Knight who looks like he should be playing bantam somewhere (Nolan and TK tell him thinking this means he’s old when he leans over to tell them). Dylan does pretty well for himself too, coming third in the passing challenge. Their division makes it to the final too, but they lose to the Pacific, which is all they hear about from Leon as they make their way to the bar. 

They’re going to a venue which according to Connor’s research usually showcases some up and coming country singers. TK is very excited about this, and is telling Connor so, while Nolan and Leon are bonding over their cool hipster music. 

Mitch and Dylan are walking just behind them when Mitch starts slowing his pace, so Dylan slows right down with him. 

“If you want to pick up, I can cover for you, man.” Mitch has an arm around his shoulder and is whispering in his ear. “I know you said it was easier to go under the radar in cities like this.” 

Mitch is a good friend. One of those bursts of gratitude that they’d realised they would actually make better friends than enemies hits Dylan again. They’d leaned on each a lot those first few years after the draft as they bounced between the O and the A and the big show while Mitch dealt with the mess that was the Coyotes before getting traded to the Avs and Dylan had his whole Babcock experience. 

“I think I’m good, thanks.”

Mitch hip checks him. “Someone new back home?” 

“Nah, just happy to hang out with the boys.” Dylan can see Mitch look ahead towards Connor, but he doesn’t say anything. Dylan can’t tell if the fact that he isn’t cracking a joke is a good or bad thing.

“If you change your mind we can always hit up a gay bar or club after, I can be your wingman!” Mitch pauses. “Hey, do you think I would get hit on? Like, I love my wife, but it’s nice to get a little glance from time to time.” 

He absolutely does love his wife, Dylan had been there when Mitch very sweetly sobbed while saying his vows. Dylan had then spent quite a bit of time during the reception dodging Connor. Seeing him at hockey stuff was one thing, a wedding was an entirely different matter. In his efforts to avoid his ex, he’d ended up listening to Nathan MacKinnon’s opinions on how he could improve his shooting accuracy for an hour, which had been really helpful but a little intense for a social event. 

“I’m sure you’d be very popular, bud.” 

They follow the others into the venue and are immediately herded to the bar where Leon insists that they must do three tequila shots as part of some German tradition. Dylan doubts this, and Connor’s response to whether this is really a thing is pretty much a perfect example of yesterday’s word of the day (to prevaricate). Regardless of whether it’s an actual custom, they all, except Patty, do their three shots and then there are beers and then scotch and the next thing Dylan knows he’s on the dancefloor.

The dancefloor is objectively an awesome place to be, especially when the band is so good. It’s him, Mitch, Nolan and TK, while Connor and Leon stay sitting at a table. Dylan had tried to get Connor to dance, but it hadn’t worked, which a part of him thinks might be for the best. Mitch is a better dance partner anyway. They’re both doing the robot, which might not be the most natural interpretation of this surprisingly upbeat song about being left by your girl, but is Dylan’s strongest dance move. Nolan and TK are doing some sort of routine they seem very familiar with, which Dylan is mildly concerned might be some tribute to Gritty. 

He and Mitch abandon the robot for an overexaggerated waltz when the tempo switches to a slow song about telling the people you love you love them while you still can. He’s mid dip when he notices how close Nolan and TK are dancing, how Nolan’s hand is low on TK’s back and their faces are so close, a breath apart. It must be the rush of oxygen to his head or the alcohol or the temperature, softening the edges and boundaries around them, making the scene into something he wants to see. 

Needing a break, he grabs water at the bar before sitting down with Connor and Leon. Mitch has already joined them and is treating Leon to one of the albums of Zeus photos on his phone. Connor turns to Dylan and Dylan has to chug the rest of his water in order to avoid thinking too much about how he likes Connor’s eyes. 

“We were thinking of heading back because we all have early flights, would that be okay with you?”

“Yeah, sure.” Sleep is probably the best idea right now. “Should we ask TK and Patty too?”

Connor raises his eyebrows. “We’ll let them know we’re going, but I think they’ll manage just fine on their own.”

“They are very good friends,” Dylan agrees. “Great chemistry on that line.” They’d killed the Leafs at 5-on-5 in the playoffs last year.

“There sure is.” Connor is sort of smirking, but then his face changes into something more fond, almost amazed, like Dylan has said something of shocking brilliance rather than a fact that’s more or less universally accepted. “We should get you back to the hotel, yeah?”

Once they’re outside Mitch moves onto Connor as his next photo viewing victim, so Dylan keeps Leon company on the way home. The German is quiet at first, until he says, “I had more to drink than I thought.” 

“As long as it’s less than Connor on his birthday you’ll be doing okay.” Dylan probably shouldn’t be thinking about that night, or how Connor had looked at him, right now.

Leon grins and breaks into some stories about Connor’s younger days with the Oilers that Dylan deeply hopes he will remember in the morning. “Connor is a nice guy, isn’t he?” Leon asks at the tail end of one involving an inflatable pink flamingo.

It’s a bit of an understatement. “Well, yeah, but he’s more than nice.” Dylan looks ahead to where Connor is patiently listening to Mitch show him pictures he’s definitely already seen. “He’s an amazing friend and a great teammate and… He’s special.”

Before he knows what’s happening he’s being hugged tightly by a very impressive set of arms. “I like this one, Connor!” Leon yells, which Connor rather rudely ignores. 

Leon hugs him again when they say their goodbyes in the hotel like they’re good friends now. Dylan isn’t going to complain. He’s wondering if he would have been immune to the way Leon looks if they had played together and once they’re alone in the elevator he blurts out to Connor, “Did you ever have a thing for Leon? If you’re, you know, attracted to men?”

“Of course I am,” Connor says, like it’s easy and obvious, and maybe it could have been if Dylan had ever just asked. He can’t parse relief from tension as Connor continues. “But I wasn’t into Leon. Maybe I could have been that first season before we were friends, but, well, I was hung up on someone else.”

If Dylan has taken one second to think about the timing he wouldn’t have asked who, but he does not take one second. Connor just stares at him and then Dylan punches his arm. “You missed a chance with Draisaitl because you were hung up on me? Have you seen him?!”

Connor tries to stifle his laughter as they walk down the hall past the other bedrooms. “He’s straight, I don’t think there was ever a chance.” 

“You never know. You were pretty cute back then.” It feels like a misstep when no response comes, but when he looks at Connor he sees a familiar blush.

They reach their rooms and Dylan steps towards Connor and hugs him, a little tighter than usual. “I’m glad I got to do this with you.” 

“Me too,” Connor says. “Erie Otter All Stars.” 

They stay there like that, neither of them making any effort to move, and it feels so great, like Dylan is exactly where he’s meant to be. “I’m glad this isn’t so hard anymore, too.” Connor makes a questioning sort of noise. “Being close to you, I guess.”

Connor holds him tighter, his words coming out a little choked. “I never want to make things more difficult for you.” 

“I know.” Dylan cups his hand and rubs the back of Connor’s head. His heart rises in his throat and it all feels too intimate then, too obvious how easy it would be for him to turn his head and find his lips on Connor’s cheek, his mouth. 

He takes a step back and looks down so he’s not tempted to step right back and kiss him. “I’ll see you in the morning, yeah?”

“You will,” Connor confirms, and his voice probably doesn’t have the shake that Dylan hears.

It takes him longer to get to sleep than it should.

*****

It’s a normal practice until near the end. Dylan’s on the bench while Connor’s line is out for what should be their last shift of the scrimmage. Connor’s headed towards the goal when he collides into Lucas, the new d-man who’s been called up from the Marlies. It’s loud, and then they’re both sprawled on the ice, and Dylan’s mind is all staticky and, without really thinking anything through, he’s hopping over the boards.

Connor’s already sitting up by the time he gets to them, and Will’s there too, and Caroline the trainer, and everything looks under control, but Dylan still asks, “Should you be sitting up already?”

“I’m fine,” Connor says, and he does sound fine, but Dylan can’t quite stop himself from reaching and touching to make sure that’s the case. For a second, Connor tenses and Dylan’s stomach drops, but then his shoulders relax completely like he’s sinking down somewhere comfortable. He turns his head towards Dylan, “I promise.” 

“Is there anything you need?”

Connor shakes his head, but jerks it towards Lucas who seems physically fine, if physically incapable of doing anything other than apologise to Connor. Neither the sincerity or frequency of Connor’s assurances that it’s okay seem to be helping matters. Dylan is still hearing all about it in the car after he offers to drive Lucas home.

“They’re going to send me back down, man. I could have injured Connor McfuckingDavid.”

“You didn’t though,” Dylan reminds him, keeping a good eye on his GPS as he thinks Lucas is too caught up to be paying enough attention to give him decent directions. “It was a clean hit, he was just coming at you really fast. You played well.”

This does nothing to stop Lucas. “It wouldn’t have mattered if I’d played well if I’d put McDavid out for the rest of the season, where would the team be then?” He takes a deep breath and looks around the car nervously. “No offence.”

“None taken.” Dylan tries not to smile. Crashing into the team’s superstar probably isn’t the best way to end a first proper NHL practice. “It’s not about what could have happened though. This is hockey, there are a million different things that could happen. It’s about what did happen, and about learning from that and bringing it forward.” That idea is something he’s had to remind a lot of new guys about. 

“I just really want to stay up,” Lucas says quietly. 

“I know.” He truly does. “And if you do, that’s awesome. But if you don’t, it won’t be because of this. And you could be called up again in another few games, or make it into the team straight after camp next season. You’re going to get there.”

Lucas shifts in his seat. “You got sent down, didn’t you?”

“A couple of times, yeah. And it sucks. But it makes you better. You were with the 67s last season, right?” Lucas nods, looking a little pleased. “And you had big minutes in that run to the Mem Cup. That type of experience helps.” 

“I hope so.” Lucas plucks at the edge of his seatbelt. “McDavid didn’t seem mad earlier.” Dylan is glad this is finally settling in.

“He’s not going to hold it against you. And you can call him Connor.” 

“And you’re, like, his best friend, so if you’re driving me home he probably doesn’t hate me.” 

Lucas has calmed down considerably, but Dylan thinks it’s still best not to deliver a joke about how he’s driving him out somewhere to beat him up. “That sounds about right.”

“Oh, we’re almost here actually.” 

Sure enough, the GPS announces their arrival at their destination and, after too many thank yous, Dylan heads back into the city. He stops along the way for black licorice and texts Connor to let him know that he’s going to come by. 

Connor seems to be moving okay when he and Lenny greet Dylan at the door, but he puts an ice pack back on once they’re seated on the big sectional in the living room. “How long have you had that on for?” Dylan asks, shaking his head when Connor offers him some of the licorice. It’s objectively the worst kind of candy and he’s informed Connor of this fact many times. 

“Fifteen minutes.” He adds, “I’ll take it off in five,” before Dylan can say anything. “Did you give the kid a dad talk too?” 

“I haven’t been giving anyone dad talks.” Certainly not Connor anyway. “I just tried to help him put things in perspective a little. He seemed to accept you didn’t hate him by the end, so I guess it went okay.”

“You’re so good at that side of things,” Connor says. 

Lenny approaches Dylan with a tennis ball and Dylan ignores Connor’s advice that he can say no. “I think it might be easier for guys to talk when they know I was sent back to Erie, and then had time in the A. I get what that’s like.”

“I know I probably wouldn’t have been much help, but I’m sorry I wasn’t around for that.” 

Dylan can feel Connor’s eyes on him, but it takes him a moment to look up. He swallows down the temptation to say he would have helped, because that could just make Connor feel worse, and he can’t be sure how true it would be. “It wasn’t what I’d hoped for.” Lenny places the ball in his hand and nuzzles his arm, so he goes back to throwing it for him. “Once wouldn’t have been too bad but…” They were the right decisions though, in the end. “I wouldn’t have got to where I am without that time, though, so it worked out. I know how lucky I am.” He’s seen one brother bounce around the league and the other not make it.

“That doesn’t mean it didn’t suck at the time,” Connor says, stretching and rolling his neck until he ends up facing Dylan. 

“Yeah, I guess.” Dylan throws the ball without looking and it hits off the TV, Lenny scrambling to catch it. “Shit, sorry.”

“Don’t worry. It’s not the best place for a dog his size, really.” To Dylan it actually looks a little bigger this time around with just the two of them and the dog, usually there have been some other guys here too anytime he’s been before. But it is far from huge.

“Have you been looking for a house?” He’s not sure he’s heard Connor mention it since the beginning of the season, thinks he might have heard him dodge some questions about it.

“Just at listings, I haven’t seen anything I’ve liked enough to view.” He grimaces, removing the ice pack just as Dylan was going to check on the time. “I think… I’m not planning on leaving Toronto, so this could be my, whatever they call it on HGTV… forever home. So I want to get it right.” 

“It wouldn’t be the end of the world if you bought something now and moved in a few years.” Dylan bounces the ball while Lenny follows its path with his head, up and down and up and down, until he throws it again. “I think you’re good for the money.”

“You haven’t got any further with looking for a bigger place?” Connor asks, in what’s probably a fair response.

“I haven’t really tried. I used to worry about being traded, like buying a house would tempt fate or something, and even now… guys get asked to waive their no trades all the time.”

“You’re not getting traded,” Connor declares, with the finality of someone who has a say in the matter. And maybe he might have, or some influence at least. 

“More than that… I don’t know, I think I had this stupid idea that buying a house was something you did with someone, and I’ve never got to that stage.” He tosses the ball again. “I’ve never really felt like I could.” 

Connor’s tone is mild. “I don’t think that’s stupid.” 

“It feels that way sometimes. I wouldn’t think it was weird if you or anyone else bought a house on your own.” He leans back, settling himself into the cushions. “Do you remember when you were a rookie and it seemed like the older guys had everything sorted out, that they knew everything? They had their houses and their wives and their kids and it all seemed so… solid. I don’t feel like that. I have the contract and I feel that I know what my role on the team is, but other than that…” He rubs his eyes. “Well, I obviously knew I wasn’t going to have a wife. But I thought I’d be closer to some of that by now. And I’m thirty next week.”

“Yeah.” Dylan realises belatedly that Connor is in the same boat with the lack of a house and wife and kids at thirty. He shakes off Dylan’s attempts to apologise. “I used to think I’d have more of a plan for what happens after by now. But I don’t.” 

Dylan doesn’t really either, has thought about maybe going to college, or sticking around with the Leafs, or doing something with You Can Play. He’s not sure he’s ready to think about that, not until after they win again. 

Connor twists a little, looking up at the ceiling. “I don’t want to be left when it’s all over regretting not going after something I really wanted.” It makes sense, it’s probably part of why he came to the Leafs. 

Lenny starts to whine a little, looking towards the door. “Hey, does he need to go for a walk?”

“My mom is going to come around later, or maybe Cam. I’ll be fine by tomorrow, but I don’t think it would be the best thing for me to take him.”

“I could do it, if you liked?” Dylan scratches behind Lenny’s ears. He doesn’t mind spending more time with him at all.

“Are you sure?” Dylan assures him that he really would like to and Connor relaxes. “Okay, will I order some food for when you get back?”

Whatever Connor orders, it will probably be more exciting than the chicken and sweet potato waiting for Dylan at home. “You’re really working hard to make sure I come back with your dog.”

Connor grins. “Can’t take any chances.” 

“Guess we’re not going to be running away together anytime soon, Len.” Dylan listens as Connor tells him the best route to take and where to find Lenny’s lead. He gives a lot more instructions than Dylan thinks is strictly necessary, but eventually they manage to get out the door.

For a moment he lets himself think about how nice this all is, before putting that in a box and locking it shut. It’s not his to keep. 

Dylan doesn’t know how his brothers find out about him walking Connor’s dog, but is pretty sure Alex DeBrincat is somehow involved. It’s not what he’s expecting the conversation on the drive to his birthday party to centre around either.

They have Matt on FaceTime in the backseat while his parents are in the front, coming off a shutout for the Leafs against the Ducks. Ryan still seems in a pretty good mood though, or at least it’s improving with all the chirps he’s getting in about Dylan’s future as a dog walker. 

Matt doesn’t seem quite so enthused. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” 

“What is?” Ryan asks, but Dylan thinks he knows where his younger brother is going with this.

“Dylan spending so much time with Connor.” Matt crosses his arms and sits back.

“We’re friends. It’s good.” It is. Dylan has enough of what he wants to not look for more.

“It was good until he broke up with you last time too.” Dylan winces, remembering how Matt had to put up with the brunt of his moping.

“I’ll keep an eye on things tonight,” Ryan intervenes. “Make sure McDavid isn’t getting fresh with him.”

“Getting  _ fresh _ ?! What are you, sixty?” 

“Hey, I’m almost sixty and I’ve never said that,” his dad interjects, and Dylan loses any hope that his parents might not be paying attention to this conversation.

Matt’s response is that he’d do a better job if he were there. “We wish you were here, bud,” Dylan tells him. Seems unfair that he’s the one on the outside looking in, again. 

When they arrive at the restaurant his dad and Ryan go in first while his mom makes him hang back so she can make sure his jacket is sitting right. “Have to have you looking smart at your party,” she mutters as she fiddles with it. Once she’s happy with the adjustment she pats her hand on his lapel. “I think it’s nice that you’re spending more time with Connor.”

“Yeah. Me too.” He looks at the door and then back at his mom. “Just… don’t get your hopes up.” 

His mom smiles in that patient way she has, the one she always gave when he worried that things were never going to work out. “How about I hope that things between you are whatever makes you happiest?” Dylan just nods and pulls his mom in for a hug. 

It’s a great party (definitely better than the 21st debacle, no matter what Will says when he compares the two). What with having friends playing all over it would be impossible to have everyone he would like here, but it’s a good mix of team and friends and family (and some who feel like all three). 

His extended family are some of the first to leave, and then the rookies and some of the other young guys who try to entice him into going out clubbing with them. As the group gets smaller, they start to congregate around the one table, and his parents start telling way too many stories about him as a kid. Dylan really didn’t need Will muttering about he’s the most Pisces to ever Pisces on hearing about how he cried after turning five because he missed being four.

He’s heading back from the bathroom when Connor waylays him and leads him to one of the alcoves off the hall. It feels sort of secretive and exciting and Dylan has to remind himself of the advice he gave his mom earlier.

Connor hands him an envelope. “It’s not your actual present, it just tells you what it is. I probably should have asked someone else to make it because I’m not great with computers or whatever but…”

The rambling is drowned out when Dylan opens the envelope to find a neatly folded sheet with the Augusta emblem and an invitation to golf there with Connor this summer. “Fuck, how did you… This is too much.” 

Connor shakes his head, firm and quick. “I, uh, know someone whose finance guy is a member. And if you want to go with someone else, that would be okay. I just… thought it would be nice. You and me.” 

“I wouldn't want to go with anyone else. You… Are you sure you don’t want to go with Cam, or your dad?” This feels big. Momentous.

“I’m sure.” His head ducks down and he starts fiddling with his cufflinks, the ones Dylan got him for his birthday. “I have plans.”

“Plans?” He reaches out to try and calm the fidgeting, his fingers light on Connor’s wrist. 

Connor inhales. “For us. After playoffs. If you want.” 

“You have plans for us after playoffs,” Dylan repeats. He has to be absolutely sure he’s hearing this right, that his heart isn’t running ahead of the rest of him.

“Yes.” Connor looks up, his shoulders set. “I think we should talk about what we… what we might want. And I don’t think… After playoffs would be better I think.”

“Yes. You’re right. After playoffs would be better, after playoffs would be great.” Dylan must look ridiculous, his jaw hurting from how wide he’s smiling. 

But surely Connor’s smile is just as bright. “Yeah?” His eyes cloud a little. “We are talking about the same thing, right?” 

It might not hurt to use some more concrete words. Or actions. “I think so. But you could show me, so we’re sure.”

And with that, Connor leans forward, his lips gentle at the side of Dylan’s mouth and then the centre of his lips. They could leave it at that, soft and sweet, but Dylan hasn’t had this in coming on twelve years and he’s not just going to let it go. He moves closer into Connor’s space, presses his chest against his and tangles his fingers in his hair, his tongue tracing the crease of his lips. Connor’s hands are suddenly everywhere, down Dylan’s back to his ass and the other tight along his arm. 

There’s a shuffling sound and they break apart, each taking a step back. Connor doesn’t look that afraid though, he looks jubilant, looks… free maybe. Like he’s seventeen and they’re in his bedroom at his family’s cottage and all their dreams are waiting. 

Maybe there’s still time for dreaming yet.

Dylan clears his throat. “So, I guess we’re on the same page then?”

Connor laughs, neatens his shirt. “Yeah, I guess we are.” His thumb circles the cufflink on his right wrist, presses it against his skin. “Happy birthday, Dylan.” 

He can’t think of a better one right now. The letter and envelope have fallen to the ground in his rush to touch Connor and he bends to pick them up, wipes them clean of any dust they may have gathered. 

They go back to the party and Dylan hopes what just happened isn’t written all over his face. Even if the people left tonight are ones he might want to tell, he’d like to hold it close for a moment first. Something for him and Connor alone to share. Something that’s theirs. 

*****

The next two birthday parties Dylan attends are both at the Virtue-Riellys’. One a quiet night in for Morgan two days after Dylan’s actual birthday, and then a loud one during the day for Bea two weeks later. Dylan and Will were going to be the only Leafs here without kids of their own to bring along, but Will’s family is over visiting so Dylan is left as the only person here without an accompanying child who isn’t a Rielly or Virtue relative. That works out pretty well, he can dip in and out of playing with the kids and no one really expects him to take on a serious watching role.

He’d wondered on the drive here whether it might be nice if Connor was there too, but he thinks it’s probably for the best that he isn’t. Before, Dylan had no problem differentiating the Connor who’d been his boyfriend when they were young to the Connor who is his teammate now. Or not much of one, at least. But now there’s this whole other prospect of a Connor who could be both, who has  _ plans _ for after playoffs. Dylan still agrees with the after playoffs idea, they have a cup to try and win, but he thinks waiting might have been easier without the refresher on kissing Connor. Or the introduction, maybe. 

It’s fine when they’re at work, he’s a professional and they’re teammates. It’s when they’re out celebrating a win, or just hanging out at lunch or someone’s house. He notices things now. Notices how good his arms look tight under his sleeves, remembers how good they felt wrapped around him. Notices his lips as he talks, remembers how they felt on his. Notices everything.

It can be a little distracting.

So, all in all, it’s probably for the best that Connor is playing golf with Cam and his dad and not here. This way he can give his full attention to games of Duck, Duck, Goose or Scott Moir’s opinions on the Leafs this year. It’s later in the day, when most of the guests have gone, that Tessa corners him in the kitchen when he’s crept back in to scrounge some leftover Rice Krispie treats. 

He’s just bitten into one when she says, “Been up to anything interesting lately? I feel like we haven’t seen much of you.” 

“I was over for lunch last week.” He tries to wipe some of the crumbs off his face.

“Mhmm. But we haven’t really had a chance to talk properly.” Tessa sits down on one of the stools at the island and beckons for him to sit down beside her. “How have things been?”

“Oh. Good.” She can’t know that anything sort of happened. “Playoff spot is ours unless something really drastic happens.” Tessa levels him with a look that is eerily similar to some he’s received from his mom. “And everything else is good too.”

She reaches past Dylan for some Haribo. “I heard Connor got you a very nice birthday gift.” Dylan didn’t know how acrobatic her eyebrows were.

“Uh, yeah. It was very generous.” 

“You’re going in the summer, right?” He nods. “So it will be just the two of you in the hot Augusta air…” Tessa continues on, probably saying something even more over the top, but, unfortunately for his quest to give her nothing in the way of a reaction, Dylan is quite stuck on that idea. “Wait, you’re actually thinking about that right now?!”

“No. My eyes have just glazed over because you’re being ridiculous.” Maybe he’s too quick off the mark with the denial.

“Oh wow, you are.” Tessa sits back, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re not just burying this deep down to think about later. Did something happen?” Her eyes brighten. “At the party?”

Dylan could try and deny this, but just as he’s about to he finds that he doesn’t want to. “Maybe?” 

“I’m going to need more than just a maybe.” 

“Something happened at the party,” he confirms. “He, uh, he said he has plans. For after playoffs.”

“What kind of plans?” 

“For us to talk about what we want. Romantically,” he adds, and then with a little more recklessness, “We kissed.”

Tessa takes a quick breath, her face beaming. She hits his arm. “Dylan! That was two weeks ago!”

“I know, I… wanted to keep it to myself for a little bit?” He takes another one of the Rice Krispy treats, removing the case carefully. “Or I didn’t want to jinx it.” For all the time he’s spent imagining how things could work out, he’s also pictured the many ways it doesn’t. “There are a lot of ways it could go wrong.”

“And there are a lot of ways it could go right,” Tessa responds immediately, before seeming to check herself. “But it’s perfectly normal to worry.”

“I know it’s not really that big a deal. Not compared to what you’re going through.” They’re still trying, still waiting. Morgan talks to him about it almost regularly now, but he’s never really talked about it with Tessa. Isn’t sure he knows how. “I don’t want to bother you with little things.” 

“Hey,” she shakes her head, “that doesn’t mean I don’t want to talk about your life. I can set my boundaries for what I can handle and when.” Tessa places her hand on his arm. “And I want to know about this.” 

“Okay. I just… What if we want different things? Or if us being together would mess up the whole team?” There is so much that is unknown.

“He wants to make plans, yeah?” Dylan nods. “So you’re going to be discussing these things. That’s what the planning is for.” It’s definitely a good idea to wait to discuss all that until after playoffs. Tessa smiles, “I’m excited for you.” 

“I’m excited too.” And nervous and scared and unsure, but very excited.

“I will kill him if he hurts you,” Tessa says, and it’s a joke and it’s not. “I guess Morgan won’t be able to help because of being his captain, but I can rope someone else in. Scott’s my oldest friend, it’s practically in the job description.” Theirs is a past that no longer requires capitalisation. 

“There is no way that Scott will help you kill Connor.” The man had spent a minimum of fifteen minutes gushing about the impact Connor has had on the Leafs power play alone. 

“He’ll still help dispose of the body. McJesus won’t rise in Ilderton.” 

It takes Dylan a solid thirty seconds to make any sense of that before he remembers that Ilderton is where Scott is from, and the place they started skating together. “I just don’t think I can agree to this Canadian treasure on Canadian treasure violence. It would be unpatriotic.” 

Before Tessa can say anything to that, they hear Bea yell something about how it’s  _ her _ birthday, the noise ratcheting up towards tantrum level. Tessa sighs, “That’s my cue I think. Unless you want to go and help instead?”

“I think I’m going to sit this one out, thanks.” His nieces have had ones before when he’s babysat and they’ve left him some mixture of sad and tired and exasperated. 

“Smart.” Tessa hops off the stool, grabbing some candy for sustenance. “You’ll have to give me more detail about this kiss at the party later though. Prep to tell me everything.” He laughs as she leaves the room.

Dylan checks his phone before he goes back out to the party. There’s a message from Connor with a photo of the view at Glen Abbey and Dylan smiles before sending him back one of Bea blowing out her candles from earlier. 

Playoffs, and all they may bring, aren’t too far away. 

*****

Playoffs come around very fast. 

The last few weeks of the regular season seem to pass at warp speed, and Dylan spends more of the lead-in to the first round with the trainers due to an issue with his right knee than he’d really like. 

They’re playing the Bruins, but now it feels like the roles are reversed from those first playoff rounds Dylan had played when he was starting out in the league. Now the Bruins are the young team trending upwards after a fallow period and the Leafs are the experienced veterans. It’s a little strange, but any time he or any of the other older guys express this they just get chirped by the younger ones. And Connor, who’s just as old but bears different playoff scars. 

They win their first two games at home and head to Boston feeling good, Dylan especially. His knee has improved some and he might even be willing to admit that Keefe’s decision to give him fewer minutes in those games was for the best. He proves he’s ready for more pretty decisively.

It’s one of those nights where everything seems to go right, the ones that come along every once in a while and make hockey feel a little like magic again. He assists Nick for the game’s opening goal on their first shift and sets Connor up to score on the power play shortly after. He gets two more assists in the second period and in the third he gets a goal of his own, a rebound off his own shot. 

There’s a long stint with the media and a long stint with the trainers to follow, but he’s still not all that tired by the time they reach the hotel, some adrenaline or plain excitement lingering. He, Will and Connor are having room service in Connor’s room and it feels like being away for a tournament as a kid.

When he says this out loud Connor agrees straight away, and then suggests a further throwback. “Maybe we should dye our hair blonde for playoffs, really go back to the OHL days.”

Dylan thinks he’s joking. But the platinum look might actually be better for him than his attempt to grow a playoff beard, which has never been successful. It’s a running joke for Steve Dangle. 

Will groans. “I don’t trust you to get it done properly. I should be the only blonde here. You two aren’t even aware of the existence of toner.” Dylan’s pretty sure he’s seen toner in the bathroom back home, but he always thought his mom used that on her face, not her hair. He’s got a feeling he shouldn’t mention this.

“You’re just jealous because we’d look better than you,” Dylan tells him, a weak chirp that Will doesn’t even acknowledge as he launches into a lecture about how they’re getting older now and need to think seriously about protecting and preserving their hair while they still have it. 

Connor takes out his phone, seemingly to take notes, but Dylan can’t tell if that’s what he’s actually doing or if it’s a joke. They’re sitting on opposite ends of Connor’s super king so he can’t just lean over and look. 

Will takes out his phone too, checking for the name of a hair mask or something, when he reads something that has him all distracted. He might even be blushing, which is an absolutely fascinating development. “I need to make a call, I’ll see you guys in the morning.” He’s cleared out of the room before Dylan can even string a sentence together. 

“Is he seeing someone?” Connor asks.

“He hasn’t mentioned anyone, but it sort of looks that way.” Will had been dating a girl from back home pretty seriously up until about a year ago. Dylan wonders if they might be making another go of things.

“That’s nice.” Connor stretches his neck. “Probably not the best idea to start seeing someone during playoffs though.”

“Probably not.” Too much of a distraction, surely.

“Better to wait until after, eh?” Connor keeps his tone light but his eyes are a little more serious, a little more searching, like Dylan might actually have changed his mind.

“Yeah.” His throat feels a bit dry and he reaches for the glass of water beside him. He’s thinking of heading back to his room when Connor asks if he wants to watch the highlights from the Avs and Kraken game.

Mitch has been playing especially well this series, which Dylan comments on after they watch him send an absolute beauty of a pass to Makar for the game winning goal. Connor agrees with this, before saying, “He’s not playing as well as you are.”

It’s not even true based on the series as a whole. Dylan laughs, “We’re not playing each other, not yet anyway.” 

“I know, but… I just think you should be proud. Five points in a playoff game is a pretty big deal.” 

Dylan will give him that. For a long time he thought his five point nights were a thing gone with his junior days, is fairly sure Babcock told him as much. But he worked things out. “Thanks. I am.”

“Good.” Connor smiles, mostly to himself, and Dylan wants to know what he’s smiling about.

“What is it?” 

He shakes his head initially, but then says, “I was just remembering that night you scored five in Kitchener, our first season together in Erie.” 

“Oh.” Dylan remembers that night too. “The game or…”

“Both, really. I’d been thinking about it for a while, you know, and then, that night…” Connor drums his fingers on his thigh. “You had all this energy, during the game and after, and it felt infectious or something. You were so happy, I was so happy, and I wanted to bottle it so that we could feel that way forever.” 

It had felt like fireworks, big and bright and bold, were going off with each point and goal, and everyone was bouncing in the locker room after. But it had been in their room that night that everything changed. 

They’d been sitting on Connor’s bed back then too, but it was just a single so their thighs were almost touching. Connor had persuaded their assistant coach to send them some grainy game footage so they could relive Dylan’s five points and the two sweet goals he’d set Connor up for, complete with Connor’s overenthusiastic commentary. After, Connor stared at him for a few seconds, with the type of determination that Dylan had learned not to question, until he leaned in and placed his chapped lips on Dylan’s. 

It wasn’t great, really. Dylan was too shocked to do much of anything in response. He hadn’t even let himself think about Connor in that way, even though that had been an actual challenge, unlike the rest of the boys he played with. Connor was special, in every way, and didn’t seem to know just how much. He’d moved away from Dylan after the kiss, almost falling off the bed in doing so, muttering something about how he was sorry, that he knew that just because Dylan was gay it didn’t mean he would like  _ him _ . That had brought Dylan to his senses, and he’d grabbed Connor’s arm and pulled him in close, kissing him properly then. It still wasn’t much to write home about, too much enthusiasm, not much in the way of skill, but they’d figured things out as the night went on. 

They might not have felt that way forever, but Dylan can remember it pretty perfectly now. 

“It was a good night,” he says, a deliberate understatement.

“It was.” Connor’s never lost that look of determination. The space between them doesn’t feel so far now. 

“I don’t know if it worked out the best for our game though, that year.” Dylan’s not sure who he’s trying to convince. “Better to leave that kind of thing to after playoffs, eh?”

“Mhmm.” Connor hums, and moves ever so slightly closer along the bed. “Things are pretty different now though. We could leave the bigger things until after playoffs. A kiss isn’t that big a deal, all things considered. Might even be lucky.”

There’s about a second where Dylan is impressed by how smooth that is for a guy whose method of seduction had literally been asking Dylan to show him his dick, before he takes in the full implication. And then he’s ending all the space between them. There’s a moment where he pauses, asks Connor if he’s sure, and the answer is Connor’s lips on his. It’s better than the first first kiss, maybe just by virtue of the fact they’re more practised now, but it’s still messy. For all the ease with which he’d come on to him, Dylan can feel the tension in Connor’s body, can feel the nerves, the desperation even, as his fingers bite and bruise into Dylan’s arms. 

He rubs Connor’s back, whispers in between the kisses, “It’s okay, baby.” The slip of the endearment causes his throat to dry up, but Connor relaxes, his body sinking into Dylan’s. 

“I just… I’m so tired of waiting,” Connor confesses. “I’ve wanted you since… I don’t know, the beginning almost.” 

Dylan’s not sure if he means the very beginning, the start of the season makes more sense, but then again not. But it’s hard to make coherent sense of anything when he can feel Connor getting hard against him as his fingers dip under Dylan’s shirt, feels his own body respond, if not as fast as it did back when they were seventeen then embarrassingly not far off. 

“I want you too,” he tells him, just in case it isn’t obvious from his lips on his neck, from his hands all over, trying to map out Connor’s body. “We could… one night. And then after playoffs we can figure out the rest.” 

“We can celebrate your five points.” 

It may have been a while since Dylan has hooked up with anyone, but he’s glad that those extra years of maturity have given him the wherewithal to speak when Connor touches his cock, even if it is over his sweatpants. “It doesn’t have to be about that. It can just be for us.”

Connor kisses him hard, biting down on his lip, before diving off him to go grab some lube. He squirts too much onto his hands and it lands in a messy pool all over Dylan’s stomach and they’re laughing into each other’s mouth as Dylan wipes it up with his palm. The laughter gets louder as they realise pulling down their pants and underwear first might have been easier, but turns breathier, turns to gasps and grunts once that’s done and they can finally touch skin on skin. Dylan used to know exactly how to make Connor come, can still remember what he liked, but maybe things are different now. It doesn’t seem to matter that he’s not so confident, that he switches up his rhythm, Connor keeps kissing him, keeps telling him how good he feels, keeps touching him like it’s all he’s ever wanted. And Connor’s touch, even if it’s a little unsure, maybe not so practised, is something he could never have expected to be allowed to want, back in the beginning, whichever one it might be.

They come too fast, probably, but neither of them seem to care, too preoccupied with keeping each other close. 

“We should clean up, yeah?” Dylan says after a while.

Connor asks, voice tired, “Just wait with me a little longer,” and he can’t say no.

They win the next game and complete the sweep and the Leafs keep rolling, like nothing’s changed at all. 

*****

Dylan hates losing. He especially hates losing in the playoffs. Going down two games to start the series against the Flyers was, needless to say, not the plan. It’s not that they’d expected things to be easy, it’s the playoffs, but… there’d been a certain Cup hangover quality to the Flyers up until just about the business end of the regular season. There’s no hint of that now. TK is on a scoring tear and Hart looks almost infallible, the only thing keeping him from a shutout in the first game being an absolute rocket of a shot from Nick. Things had been a little closer tonight, but none of the bounces had gone their way - an icing call early in the third and a questionable penalty when Mikko checked Foerster close to the boards sticking out. But, as Keefer had reminded them, they hadn’t made use of the chances they had. 

It’s quiet on the bus back to the hotel, quieter than it’s been at almost any point in the season. Dylan, Mo, Connor and Will have a quick chat in Mo’s room about what they need to do over the coming days before they go their separate ways for the night. Dylan’s wondering whether he should just try and sleep or go hang out for a bit beforehand when there’s a knock at the door. 

He’s not surprised that it’s Connor, but he is surprised at what he says after he comes in, hands in his pockets but eyes focused right on Dylan. “Maybe that night was actually lucky.” 

It’s not that they’ve completely avoided the topic. Had referenced it, actually, in some messages at a later time of night than they maybe should have been up. The conversation had helped Dylan sleep at least. “So you’re just here to win a hockey game.” 

Connor grins, takes a step closer. “A series actually.”

Dylan loops his arms around Connor’s shoulders. “Well, in that case…” He kisses him to chase away any thoughts about how this might not actually be the best idea, how this is not the one night they’d agreed on. He mainly kisses him because he wants to, wants their bodies close and Connor’s hair under his fingers, his lips on his.

There’s a knock at the door. “We could just ignore it,” Dylan murmurs, but another knock comes and he doesn’t feel great about the idea of ignoring someone, especially after a loss. There had always been guys with an open door for him.

“Hey,” Nick says, mouth a little downturned when Dylan opens the door. “Do you want to watch  _ Schitt’s Creek _ for a bit?” It’s a favourite for rewatching when either of them are a little down.

“Sure. Connor’s already here, so…” Dylan scratches the back of his neck, unsure where he was going with that as Nick walks into the room. 

Maybe that’s what tips Nick off. Or maybe he too notices that Connor’s still a little red and Dylan’s hair isn’t quite sitting right (though people tell him it never does). It’s not like Nick is oblivious, but he’s not always the most perceptive person ever when it comes to Dylan and relationships. So Dylan isn’t expecting his eyes to widen when he looks at Connor, and for him to switch his gaze to Dylan and then back again. “Oh wow, so this is happening.” 

He doesn't even sound particularly shocked, more just surprised. Connor isn’t saying anything, though his ears do seem to be getting redder. Dylan doesn’t want to deny it, doesn’t know what he’d even be denying. “It’s… why…”

Nick just shrugs, then gestures between Dylan and Connor, opens his mouth to say something and then shrugs again. “How about I leave you to it?” 

“I’ll, uh, talk to you tomorrow, yeah?” Dylan checks in. 

There’s a wink and a salute before Nick leaves. “Sure. Have a good night.” 

It’s quiet for a moment after he goes, then Connor scratches his head and says, “I can go back to my room if you like.”

“Is it… okay that he knows?” It’s too late now to change things.

“Yeah, of course. I don’t mind Nick, or any of the guys we’re close to knowing.” 

Maybe it would be sensible to agree that Connor go, or to properly talk over what Nick knowing might mean to them, but Dylan does neither of those things. He pulls Connor in again and says, “I thought you were here to win a series,” and that’s that.

They do win the series, down to the usual mixture of skill and resilience and lucky bounces rather than his and Connor’s night time efforts, he’s sure, but still. It’s not like those nights have affected their game or changed anything about the team and that seems worth tucking away to think about after playoffs. Though he guesses it couldn’t change much for the team when the only people who know are the two of them and Nick, who has taken the news in his stride. 

They hadn’t talked about it all that much the day after, Dylan had filled him in on what was happening and Nick had held off on any followup questions. Judging by the conversation so far he’s been saving them up for when they won the series. They’re celebrating at a bar owned by one of Zach’s friends and it’s just the team, their family and friends for the night. 

Nick’s on his first beer (Keefer had made it clear they weren’t to go too wild), but his fifth question on Dylan and Connor’s status. “Why don’t you just agree that you’re in a relationship?” 

“Because we’re not? We’re going to talk about that after playoffs.” Hopefully not until the middle of June.

“But,” Nick lifts his hands and faces the palms inward to one another, about the breadth of a puck apart, he moves them to his right, “you have feelings for one another,” he moves them to his left, “and you’re… having relations.” Dylan snorts. “What? I’m trying to be mature here, man. What do you want me to say, you’re banging hockey’s saviour?”

There’s a choking noise behind them and Dylan’s stomach drops until he turns to see Mo, who definitely isn’t the worst option to have heard that. “I was going to tell you,” he assures him, “just when we’d, you know, figured some stuff out.” The whole after playoffs thing was a solid decision, not just an exercise in procrastination (a stellar word of the day from last week).

Mo inserts himself between Dylan and Nick at the table they’re standing around. “So, what is there to tell me?”

“Dylan and Connor are sleeping together,” Nick says, before Dylan can even get thinking about a good response.

That statement isn’t entirely accurate. “Well, technically we haven’t actually…”

Nick puts his head in his hands. His next question comes out muffled, “So what would you call it then?”

Before he can come up with anything suitable (is there really a right phrase for this? He can’t call it hooking up), Mo interjects, “If you say brojobs I will go behind that bar and throw everything at you.”

“That seems pretty violent.” Morgan just gives him his captain face. “I would not have said brojobs.” He’s never done brojobs in his life. “We’re, you know…”

Will appears beside him, putting his arm around Dylan’s shoulder, and Dylan really needs everyone to stop talking about this before the whole team finds out. “Are we talking about how Dylan and Connor are making love? Doing the deed?”

Dylan lays his head on the table. “How do you know?”

“And don’t say it’s the horoscopes,” Nick adds. “Or act like you’re extra perceptive just because you’re European and shit. Rasmus and Mikko haven’t noticed anything this whole time.” 

Dylan’s not so sure about that. Rasmus had sent some pretty piercing looks his way when he and Connor were sitting beside one another at dinner a couple of weeks ago, before anything had actually started. He keeps quiet about that though. 

“The horoscopes definitely support this,” Will insists, “but I know because of a much simpler reason.” He pauses, waits until Dylan is standing upright again. “I had the room next to Dylan each time we were away this series.”

Dylan lays his head back down on the table as his friends laugh. “I hate you all.” 

Mo rubs his back. “You love us really.” 

“Not like he loves Connor.” Dylan tries to reach across and hit Nick but the angle is just too awkward. 

“Thank God, Davo would have given us the murder eyes.” Will is a lot easier to hit.

“How about we go find Tess?” Mo shepherds him away and it’s probably for the best. After they chat a little with a very excited Lucas and his brother they spot Tessa, and when Dylan sees she’s sitting with Connor it gives Dylan a wave of warmth, like he’s seeing something he didn’t know he wanted to see. 

“You don’t have to say anything to Tess if you don’t want to,” Morgan whispers. “But I’m not very good with secrets so I might struggle not to tell her later, just to warn you.” 

“I’d like her to know, whether I tell her or you do.” It’s not a secret anymore, and really he’s not sure he ever wanted it to be one. No one seems worried or annoyed about it, even if they have started… something in the middle of playoffs. “Hey, you know we’re still focused on winning, right? We’re not going to do anything to…”

The rest of his comment is swallowed when Morgan pulls him in for a tight hug, rocking their bodies from side to side ever so slightly. “I know. You don’t need to explain.” He squeezes tighter and Dylan is slightly concerned about that right shoulder Morgan has been complaining about. “I love you. This is a good thing. And it’s okay that you haven’t put a name on it yet. Just… don’t wait forever, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Dylan doesn’t plan to.

Connor’s getting up from the booth when they reach them and he puts his hand on Dylan’s elbow as Morgan slips in beside Tessa. “I’m going to the bar, do you want anything?”

“Whatever you’re having is good.” 

Connor smiles and squeezes his elbow and Dylan is left with Morgan and Tessa looking up at him expectantly. 

“You two seem happy?” There’s a glimmer in Tessa’s eye.

“We’re… you know we’re going to talk about everything after playoffs.” Tessa nods and it seems like she’s trying not to smile. “But we might have… moved the timeline up on other things.” 

“Oh really?” She’s smiling now, even looks a little smug about it. “And that’s been good?”

“Yes. Very good.” Maybe not yet at the stage where it’s better than he could have imagined, but getting there. And the fact that it’s real makes it better than any of that anyway.

Tessa puts an arm around him and kisses his cheek. “I’m happy for you. For you both.”

“Sorry that I’m probably not going to run away with you anytime soon.” 

“Guess I’ll just have to soldier on with this one.” She pats Morgan’s thigh and looks the furthest thing from sad about it. 

“A hardship,” Dylan says. Morgan rolls his eyes at them and kisses the top of Tessa’s head. 

Connor returns with a bucket containing a bottle of champagne and four glasses. “They gave it to me for free because of that goal in the third. It’s champagne so it’s fancy, right”?

Dylan finds it more endearing than he probably should that Connor has no clue about wine despite the fact that he owns a vineyard for investment purposes. It’s not like Dylan himself is a connoisseur or whatever, but he knows he likes a crisp New World white. Or he knows that this is what Tessa had told him he likes a few years ago and he’s run with it ever since.

Connor starts to pour them all a glass, but Tessa refuses. Dylan checks what she’s drinking after taking a sip of his and perks up when he sees it’s water. He doesn’t want to say anything, doesn’t want to mention it in front of Connor and doesn’t want to make Tessa say anything she’s not ready to say, but he gives her his hand under the table and she squeezes back tight enough that he knows. Dylan keeps holding on and sipping his champagne and talking to his friends and his… Connor, and thinking he’d like much more of this. 

It doesn’t feel out of reach any longer.

*****

Another of the reasons Dylan is grateful to have played his career in Toronto is that he can go to his childhood home and just switch off. It wasn’t always this way, back in those early years going home during playoffs had meant talking over every single little thing. He’d wanted it that way, had been vibrating with the excitement and the pressure without a clue how to turn it off. Now he knows he needs a break from it, needs to just sit in his parents’ kitchen as they make dinner and talk about the family and neighbourhood gossip. It’s just him and his mom this evening, his dad out golfing. After his mom updates him on the latest reason she thinks their new neighbour across the road is odd, she moves on to planning a summer vacation for all the family.

“We’ll need to wait until the girls are done with school, I know they’d like Disneyland again, but honestly, I don’t think I can do three years in a row.” Dylan’s not sure he can either. “Do you have any plans I need to figure in?” 

He pauses cutting the peppers. “Connor and I are going to play Augusta this summer, in July I think.”

“Huh. Augusta like the Masters Augusta?” His mom definitely knows enough about golf for this not to be a question. 

“Yeah. It’s my birthday present from him.” 

“That’s a very nice gift.” She’s being unnervingly measured about this.

“We’re, uh, going to see how things go, I guess. With us.” 

“Oh.” He looks up from the chopping board over to where his mom is folding and refolding a drying cloth, a big smile playing across her face. “That’s good news.”

“You’re being really calm about this.” Now that he thinks about it she’s laid off wondering about him dating over the past few months. 

She rolls her eyes. “I know I can be a little… overinvested sometimes. And I know that you don’t have to be with someone to be happy. But…” She turns to face him properly, her voice gentle. “I don’t want you to put off something that would make you happy because you don’t think you can have it and your career.” It’s been a point she’s made more and more often the past few years. He’s only come around to it more recently. “I know that the world hasn’t made it easy for you to be happy, but I don’t want you to make it any harder. I’m proud of you for taking a chance on this, Dylan.”

“Yeah?” The word catches unexpectedly in his throat, the reality of telling his mom settling in maybe. 

“Yes.” She comes over and hugs him tight and Wrigley must have woken up from his nap because he starts barking and rushes over to join them. 

They stand there like that for a little before the door opens and his dad walks in. “Everything okay here?”

Dylan disentangles himself from his mom, Wrigley proving a little harder to get loose from. “Yeah, everything’s good.” His mom raises an eyebrow at him, querying how much he wants to say. “I was just telling Mom that Connor and I are going to play Augusta this summer.”

His dad’s face lights up. “That’s awesome! When? Just one round or more?”

“That’s not the important part, Chris!” 

“It’s not unimportant though, Mom.” Dylan gets an unimpressed look in return. “But yeah, the more important part is that Connor and I are going to be talking about what we want going forward relationship-wise after playoffs.” He drums his fingers against the kitchen counter.

“Well, how about that.” His dad grins. “That’s exciting. Maybe even as exciting as playing Augusta!” 

“If you cut the onions you can talk about the Augusta side of things all you like,” his mom suggests, an offer that is quickly taken up. 

His mom hugs him for an extra long time before he heads home that night. Dylan doesn’t mind.

One of the things that isn’t so great about playing at home in Toronto during the playoffs is how it feels to lose a game at home. They’re all big games in the Eastern Conference Final, but this one felt more significant than most. It was the third win for the Canes in the series and now they’re Raleigh bound for a sudden death sixth game for the Leafs. 

“How is their defence still so good?” Connor wonders as he and Dylan take the elevator down to the underground parking. “Shouldn’t Dougie Hamilton be  _ in _ a museum at this point?” 

Dylan snorts. “I don’t think he’s that much older than us.” He takes out his phone and googles him. “Born in 1993.”

“Yeah, well, I think the internet also says TK is 5’10 so I’m not convinced.” 

“I know which one of those I’m more likely to believe.” He only has to think back to when he hugged him during the handshake line at the end of the last series to be sure that TK is no taller than 5’8. 

“We’re so close to the finals,” Connor says, any trace of fight gone, all softness now. It seems very unfair that it’s taken this long for someone as great as Connor to get in touching distance of playing for the cup. 

Dylan repeats what he’d told the guys in the room earlier, “Two more games.” 

They exit the elevator, Connor fiddling with his car keys until his words come out. “Do you want to come home with me? I get it if you don’t want to, I know we’ve only ever… on the road.”

There’s no escaping the realness of this if they go home together, but Dylan is pretty much done with escaping anyway. And he doesn’t know how he could say no to Connor when he looks nervous under the artificial lights, the world around them quiet other than the beep of a car unlocking. “Sure. Let’s go home.” 

“Cool.” Connor blinks, face brightening. “Do you want to take your car or come in mine?”

“I’ll come with you, we can get mine tomorrow.” His knee is bothering him again anyway if anyone were to ask.

“Great.” Connor leads them to his car, tells Dylan to choose the music as they drive away.

He leaves the radio off. “I told my parents that we’re going to be, uh, figuring stuff out after playoffs.” 

“Yeah?” Dylan hadn’t expected Connor to be upset, but he’s not sure he expected one of his shy smiles either. “I told Cam. Did your parents take the news okay?”

“Oh yeah. They’re excited. I mean, I think my dad might be more excited that we’re playing Augusta, but he definitely thinks it’s a good thing.” 

Connor laughs, just like Dylan had wanted. “Cam thought it was a good thing too. Took him a while to say it because he was too busy chirping me for taking so long to do anything about it.” 

What was considered doing something about it? That night last month or the present back in March? “How long were you thinking about doing something?”

“It’s been a while.” Connor pauses. “I thought I had moved on, at least as much as I could.” Dylan hums in agreement. “I wouldn’t have come here if I had a bunch of unresolved feelings that I thought would mess things up for you or the team. But when I saw you that first day at Mo’s house… I was like… oh, fuck.”

A laugh gurgles out of Dylan. “Really? Me too, I think.” 

Connor looks surprised. “Really?”

“Yeah. At least a little, but I don’t think it really hit me until you were talking about going to lunch with some girl back before the season opener.” Dylan rubs his palms on his thighs. “I’m glad you didn't do anything back then though, we weren’t ready.” 

“No, we weren’t.” Connor grips the steering wheel tighter. “Nothing’s going to change for me, you know. If we lose on Thursday or we go all the way to the end. I’m not going to change my mind and think we lost because we’d started something. I’m all in.”

It settles something in Dylan to hear him say that, to hear him say it with such conviction. “Me too. All in.” 

They pull up in Connor’s parking spot but neither of them move to go. Connor speaks first. “I know we said we’d talk about everything after playoffs, but…”

“Feels kind of silly to keep waiting, doesn’t it?” Connor nods. “I’m with you, right? I want to be with you.”

Connor joins their hands together. “I want that too.” 

“Who do you want to know about us? I think… that was one of the things we thought we should talk about.”

“I think a lot of the important ones already do, but more of our family, our friends. Maybe the team next year?” Dylan squeezes Connor’s hand. “I don’t want it to be a secret, I don’t want it to be like last time. Is… is that okay with you?”

“Yeah, of course.” Dylan takes a breath. “I want to come out while I’m still playing. Not right yet but… I think, you know, someone who’s won the Cup, hopefully more than once, someone who’s been to the All Stars, someone like that coming out, I think it could help someone, somewhere.” 

“It could,” Connor agrees, his voice scratchy. “It will.”

Dylan bites his lip. “I would never ask you to come out. And I don’t want to make life any harder for you but… that’s important to me.” He’s not expecting the gentle hand around his cheek, turning his face toward Connor.

“I don’t know how I’d go about coming out, or when or if I’d do that, but I do know that I’m going to want people to know we’re together. Not everyone right away but…” Connor sniffs, and somehow it’s only then that Dylan realises that his eyes are wet. “I don’t think we can have the kind of relationship I want us to have in the future if people don’t know.” 

Dylan’s own eyes are filling up now and he wipes them with his sleeve. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Connor laughs, “I just don’t think people are going to buy us living together for economic reasons somehow.”

“You think, bud?” He wipes Connor’s cheek.

“Yeah, I do. And there are other things too, things we couldn’t do if people didn’t know.” 

Dylan doesn’t ask what the other things are, doesn’t even let himself think them through. The things they don’t say hover between them, but this time it doesn’t feel like they’re actually holding anything back. It’s just a little early, the hopes a little too small, too unsteady, like a light that could be blown out. So they just let it flicker in the air around them. 

“Do you want to go inside?” Dylan asks. 

Connor opens the car door and Dylan follows him up to his apartment. “Is Lenny in?” he asks as Connor takes out his keys. 

“No, he’s staying with my parents.” Once the front door is closed, Connor says, “I should have known you were really here for the dog.” 

Dylan pulls him in, needs to touch him now. “I don’t know, maybe some other reasons too.” Connor leans him against the wall, his mouth hot on Dylan’s and his hands reaching for his belt. “I think we might need a bed for this.” He doesn’t want to pay for it over the next game or games. 

“I know, I’ve got you,” Connor says as he leads him to his room. 

It’s not really all that different to the hotel rooms they’ve been in over the past few weeks. Some more personal photos, a little more mess, but it’s not the most lived in. Not unlike Dylan’s bedroom, really. He doesn’t get to concentrate all that much on his surroundings with how determined Connor is to remove his clothes.

Once, when Dylan was sad and drunk and back in Erie after the Leafs had sent him down and Connor had broken up with him, Brinksy had asked which of the frequent Connor hockey descriptors suited him best in bed - god or robot. It was neither, obviously, but there had been then and there is now something of how Connor is on the ice when they’re together - that focus, that intensity. It’s there as he maps Dylan’s body with his mouth, as he swallows him down, as he looks into his eyes as he’s coming. 

After, Connor whispers in his ear, “I can’t wait to fuck you,” and Dylan can’t wait for that either. 

But they must, at least a little. “Once this series is done.” The games are coming fast on top of one another.

Connor traces Dylan’s beard, or his attempt at it. “Maybe once you get rid of this.” 

“Like that is going to stop you. It’s not even that bad this year.” There’s some definite, if slight, improvement. 

“Don’t worry, I still love you.” It could just be a chirp, but Dylan knows it’s not from how the softness of the tone contrasts with how tense Connor feels against him.

“I love you too,” he says, steady and simple. 

It’s easy to tell him and it’s easy to kiss him and the hard parts can wait. This is all they need for now.

*****

“Lenny! You ready for your last walk on the beach?” Dylan calls. Lenny bounds towards him and he kneels down to attach the lead to his collar, his knee feeling pretty good again after five weeks of rehab and rest. 

“Last walk on the beach for now,” Connor says, like Lenny is going to be surprised when they’re back at the cottage in a few weeks. He kisses Dylan on the cheek and opens the door, locking it behind them before they make their way down to the sand. 

They take Lenny off the lead again once they’re closer to the water and he races ahead, looking for a good stick. “My mom wanted to check our Canada Day plans again,” Connor says.

They’re going back to the city tomorrow in time for the holiday after a week away, making the opposite journey to most people. But there’s no missing the annual Strome fourball and the McDavids are sticking around too. “Golf for me in the morning, then lunch with my family and then we go to your parents?” 

“That’s what I thought. What do I have to do to go on this golf trip though?”

“Firstly, be a Strome.” Dylan tries not to take too much notice of how Connor doesn’t seem perturbed by this. “Secondly, take the place of one of my dad, Ryan, or Matty.” 

“Well, that part should be easy. I’ve golfed with Ryan before, I’d be an upgrade, I promise.” He’s not exactly wrong.

“Maybe don’t lead with that at lunch?” He and Ryan had won last year, but Ryan hadn’t liked being reminded that Dylan did a lot of the work. “Hey, it’s a year since you signed with the Leafs.” 

Connor stops and smiles, sweet and slow and wide. “Pretty good decision, I think.”

“I’m glad you came home.” It’s turned out nothing like Dylan would have expected last summer. No Cup, or trip to the finals, but they’d been close. He would never have been brave, or stupid, enough to dream they’d be together. 

“I’m glad I came to where you are.” Connor takes his hand, threading their fingers together, and there’s no one around but it feels momentous all the same, makes Dylan’s chest expand. “You good?” Connor asks.

“I’m great,” he replies, means it as sincerely as anything.

“Good.” Connor tugs on his hand and they start to walk again as the sun begins to set. 

**Author's Note:**

> Was a large part of the reason I had to write this fic my unexpected, unheralded need to write Dylan Strome and Tessa Virtue being pals? Yes. Do I regret this? No. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, comments and chats are welcome here or on [tumblr](https://iwantthemtostay.tumblr.com/)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * A [Restricted Work] by [Annapods](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annapods/pseuds/Annapods) Log in to view. 




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